
it! 












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POEMS. 



BY 



Susan Archer Talley. (/J JZjL6J> 



.10 







NEW YORK! 

Rudd & Carleton, 130 Grand Street, 

(BROOKS BUILDING, COR. OF BROADWAY.) 

MDCCCLIX. 



7^ V 



^ 



Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1859, by 

RUDD & CARLETON, 

In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the 

Southern District of New York. 



B. CRAIGHEAD, 

Printer, Stereotyper, and Electro'yper 

((Partem BuilTn'ng, 

81, 83, and 85 Centre Street. 



* X 



Contents 



PAGE 

Ennerslie, 9 

The Autumn Time, 20 

The Sea-Shell, 23 

Genius, 26 

The City of the Dead, 31 

Madonna, 33 

The Land of Dreams, 36 

The Adventurer, 41 

Christmas, 43 

The House of Mourning, 47 

Fire-Light Musings, 49 

Alone, ' 51 

Isabel, 54 

The Phantom Army, 56 

The Lady of Lodee, 60 

The Soul's Creed, 70 

The Owl, , 75 

The Lady Geraldine, 16 

Eld, 80 

Cloistered, 83 

Desponding Genius, 86 

Spring, 88 



Till CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

The Fortune-Teller, 90 

The Spirit of Poesy, 93 

Idlesse, 98 

Weariness, 99 

Endymion, 103 

The Loved and Lost, 106 

Past and Present, 10? 

Con Elgin, Ill 

The Dying Year, 119 

The Common Way, 120 

Airley, 122 

Unrest, 124 

Sir Launcelot, 126 

Cloud-Land, 129 

The Syrens, 131 

The Nun, 135 

Guy de Mayne, 139 

Summer Noon-Day Dream, 142 

Isola's Song in the Tower, 144 

The Sybil, 145 

The Morning Voyagers, 150 

Reverie, 152 

Herondale, 154 

Under the Moon, „ 163 

Lady Claire, 164 

Looks and Words, 169 

Rain in the Woods, 170 

Song of Rest, 11 3 

The Cross and Crown, 174 

By the Window, 115 

A Sick-Bed Yearning, Ill 

Long Ago, 178 

At Sea, 180 

Rest, 181 



POEMS 



ENNERSLIE. 

PART I. 

A hoary tower, grim and high, 
All beneath a summer sky, 
Where the river glideth by 

Sullenly — sullenly ; 
Across the wave, in sluggish gloom, 
Heavy and black the shadows loom,- 
But the water-lilies brightly bloom 

Round about grim Ennerslie. 

All upon the bank below 
Alders green, and willows grow, 
That ever sway them to and fro, 

Mournfully — mournfully ; 
Never a boat doth pass that way, 
Never is heard a carol gay, 
Nor doth a weary pilgrim stray 

Down by haunted Ennerslie. 
1* 



10 ENNERSLIE. 

Yet in that tower is a room 
From whose dim and fretted dome 
Weird faces peer athwart the gloom, 

Mockingly — mockingly ; 
And there, beside the taper's gleam, 
That maketh darkness darker seem, 
As one that waketh in a dream 

Sits the Lord of Ennerslie. 

Sitteth in his carved chair — 
From his forehead, pale and fair, 
Falleth down the raven hair 

Heavily — heavily ; 
There is no color on his cheek — 
His lip is pale — he doth not speak — 
And rarely doth his footstep break 

The stillness of grim Ennerslie. 

From the casement, mantled o'er 
With ivy boughs, and lichens hoar, 
The shadows creep along the floor 

Stealthily — stealthily ; 
They glide along, a spectral train, 
And rest upon the blackened stain 
Where of old a corpse was lain, 

Murdered at grim Ennerslie. 



ENNERSLIE. 11 

In a niche within the wall, 
Where the shadows deepest fall, 
Like a coffin and a pall, — 

Gloomily — glo omily — 
Sits a ghostly owl, and grey, 
That there hath sat for many a day, 
And motionless, doth gaze alway 

Upon the Lord of Ennerslie. 

Gazeth with its spectral eyes 
Ever in a weird surprise, 
Like some demon in disguise, 

Steadily — steadily : 
And close beside that haunted nook 
Bendeth o'er an open book 
With a wan and weary look, 

The pale young Lord of Ennerslie. 

With a measured step, and slow, 
At times he paceth to and fro, 
Muttering in whispers low, 

Fitfully— fitfully ; 
Or resting in his ancient chair 
Gazeth on the vacant air ; 
Sure some phantom sees he there, 

The haunted Lord of Ennerslie. 



12 EXNERSLIE. 

There is a picture on the wall, 
A statue on a pedestal — 
Standing where the sunbeams fall 

Goldenly — goldenly ; 
And alike, in form and face, 
The self-same beauty beareth trace ; 
Imaged with a wondrous grace 

That angel form at Ennerslie. 

Once, 'tis said, upon a time, 
In the flush of youthful prime, 
Wandering in a southern clime 

Restlessly — restlessly, — 
There passed him by a lady fair 
With violet eyes, and golden hair ; 
It is her form that gleameth there, 

That angel form at Ennerslie. 

He saw her 'mid a festal throng, 
He heard her sing a plaintive song — 
He sings it yet those shades among, 

Mournfully — mournfully : 
He saw her but a little space, 
Yet haunted by that angel-grace 
He wrought the beauteous form and face 

When back returned to Ennerslie. 



EXXEKSLIE. ] 3 

When the sun is in the west 
And the water-lilies rest, 
Rocking on the river's breast, 

Sleepily— sleepily — 
When the woodlands, far remote, 
Startle to the night-bird's note, 
Down the river glides a boat 

From the shades of Ennerslie. 

Glideth on by Ellesmaire, 
Where doth dwell a lady fair 
With violet eyes and golden hair, 

Lonesomely — lonesomely ; 
At the window's height alway, 
She weaves a scarf of colors gay, 
And in the distance, grim and gray, 

She seeth haunted Ennerslie. 

Sitting in her lonely room 
Once, amid the twilight gloom, 
Bending o'er her fairy loom 

Wearily — wearily, 
She heareth music, sweet and low — 
It is a song she well doth know — 
She used to sing it long ago ; 

It cometh up from Ennerslie. 



14 ENNERSLIE. 

Back she threw the casement, wide ; 
She saw the river onward glide, 
The willows nodding o'er the tide, 

Sleepily — sleepily ; 
She saw a boat with snowy sail 
Bearing onward with the gale ; 
She saw the silken streamer pale, 

She saw the Lord of Ennerslie. 

Carelessly he passed along 

The drooping willow shades among, 

Singing still that plaintive song 

Mournfully — mournfully ; 

Upon her hand she leant her head, 

She mused until the day was dead ; 

" Oh he was pale and sad," she said, 

" And it is lone at Ennerslie." 



part n. 



Fading are the summer leaves, 
The fields are rich with golden sheaves ; 
Her silken web the lady weaves 
Wearily — wearily ; 



ENNERSLIE. 15 

Her cheek hath lost its summer bloom, 
Her lovely eyes are full of gloom ; 
She weaveth at her fairy loom 

And looketh down to Ennerslie. 

She doth not smile, she doth not sigh : 
Above her is the cold grey sky, 
Below, the river moaneth by 

Drearily — drearily ; 
She sees the withered leaflets ride 
Like fairy barques adown the tide ; 
She saith, " Right merrily they glide, 

For they go down to Ennerslie !" 

And oft, when on the chamber wall 
The sunset hues in splendor fall, 
And mystic woodland echoes call 

Bodingly — bodingly, 
She draws aside the curtain's flow, 
And on the quiet stream below 
She watcheth, gliding onward slow, 

The snowy sail from Ennerslie. 

Beside her, on the hearth of stone, 
There sits a bent and withered crone 
Who doth for ever rock and moan, 
Drowsily — drowsily ; 



16 EXNEKSLIE. 

She crooneth songs of mystic rhyme, 
And legends of the olden time ; 
She telleth tales of death and crime, — 
She tells of haunted Ennerslie. 

She telleth how, as she hath heard, 
There dwelleth there a spirit weird 
In seeming of a ghostly bird, 

Ceaselessly — ceaselessly ; 
Because that fifty years agone 
A bloody murder there was done, 
A fearful curse doth rest upon 

The haughty race of Ennerslie. 

" But tell me, nurse," the lady said, 
What is this curse so dark and dread?" 
The nurse she shook her aged head 
Solemnly — solemnly ; 
" He crazed, by whom the deed was done, 
And it doth run from sire to son ; 
Some time the curse will light upon 

This strange young Lord of Ennerslie, 

" But should some youthful maiden dare 
For true love's sake to enter there, 
The curse herself shall break and bear 
Fearfully— fearfully." 



EXXERSLIE. 17 

And then she laughed, the beldame old ; 
" Saint Mary ! she were wondrous bold 
Who should for either love or gold 

Set free the curse from Ennerslie !" 

She telleth how — that dotard crone — 

He loved a lady years agone, 

The fairest that the earth hath known — 

Secretly — secretly ; 
But dared not woo her for his bride, 
Because the doom will sure betide 
The first that in her beauty's pride 

Shall go to haunted Ennerslie. 

She listened, but she nothing said ; 

Like a lily drooped her head ; 

Her white hand wound the silken thread 

Listlessly — listlessly : 
She rove the scarf from out the loom, 
She paced the floor, she crossed the room, 
And gleaming through the midnight gloom 

She saw the light at Ennerslie. 

The nurse she slumbered in her chair : 
Then up arose that lady fair 
And crept adown the winding stair, 
Stealthily — stealthily ; 



18 ENNEESLIE. 

A boat was by the river side — 
The silken web as sail she tied, 
And lovely in her beauty's pride 

Went gliding down to Ennerslie. 

Back upon the sighing gale 

Her tresses floated, like a veil ; 

Her brow was cold, her cheek was pale, 

Fearfully — fearfully ; 
Was that a whisper in her ear ? 
Was that a shadow hovering near? 
Her very life-blood chilled with fear 

As down she went to Ennerslie. 

As upward her blue eyes she cast, 
A shadowy form there flitted past 
And settled on the quivering mast, 

Silently — silently. 
The lady gazed, yet spake no word — 
She knew it was the demon-bird, 
The dark avenging spirit weird 

That dwelt at haunted Ennerslie. 

Fainter from the tower's height 
Seems to her the beacon-light, 
Gleaming on her misty sight 
Fitfully— fitfully ; 



ENNERSLIE. 19 

The river's voice is faint and low, 
A chilly dew is on her brow ; 
She saith, " The curse is on me now, 
But 'tis no more on Ennerslie !" 

" And he will little heed," she sighed, 
" When hither comes his southern bride, 
That one for love of him hath died 

Secretly — secretly ; 
I knew that here I could not stay — 
My heart was breaking day by day ; 
And dying thus I take away 

The evil spell from Ennerslie !" 

Amid that tower's solitude 
He sitteth in a musing mood, 
And gazeth down upon the flood 

Mournfully — mournfully ; 
When lo ! he sees a tiny barque 
Gliding amid the shadows dark, 
And there a lady still and stark — 

A wondrous sight at Ennerslie ! 

He hurried to the bank below, 
Upon the strand he drew the prow- 
He drew it in the moonlight's glow, 
Eagerly — eagerly ; 



20 THE AUTUMN TIME. 

He parted back the golden hair 
That veiled the cheek and forehead fair ; 
Why starts he at that beauty rare, — 
The pale young Lord of Ennerslie ? 

He called her name — she nothing said — 
Upon his bosom drooped her head ; 
The soul had from the body fled, 

Utterly— utterly ! 
Slowly rolled the sluggish tide, 
The breeze amid the willows sighed. 
" Oh God ! the curse is on me !" cried 
The stricken Lord of Ennerslie. 



THE AUTUMN TIME. 

The Autumn time hath come again, 

The pleasant autumn time ! 
Awakening deep and dreamy thought, 

Like some old poet's rhyme. 
It cometh with a saddened light. 

A solemnizing tone, 
And maketh in each tuneful heart 

Rich music of its own. 



THE AUTUMN TIME. 21 

It cometh with its gorgeous skies, 

Its breezes wild and free, 
That pipe unto the whirling leaves 

A fitful melody ; 
>Tis throned upon the mountain-side 

In many-hued array — 
As seems some haughty Indian queen 

Upon her bridal day. 

The Autumn time hath pleasant hours, 

And dreamily they glide, 
As float the golden-tinted leaves 

Adown a silver tide ; 
And every thought that fills the heart 

In that poetic time, 
Is bathed in music at its birth 

And gushes forth in rhyme. 

The Autumn time hath solemn thoughts — 

It brings us back the dead ; 
And sad and dirge-like melodies 

Breathe round us as we tread : 
We see remembered shadows glide 

All mournfully and slow, 
And hear the silence echoing 

With tones of long ago. 



22 THE AUTUMN TIME. 

The Autumn time, the Autumn time ! 

How beautiful it seems, 
Where through the woodland canopies 

The setting sunlight gleams ; 
Or where, upon the hurrying wave, 

The withered leaves are cast ; — 
As down the rushing stream of life 

Float memories of the past. 

The Autumn time, the Autumn time ! 

How gorgeous are its skies, 
Where evening clouds are gathering 

In gold and crimson dyes, — 
And slowly fading, melt away 

Into a twilight gleam — 
As softly glides a pleasant thought 

That deepens to a dream. 

1 love the saddened Autumn time- 
When through the dreamy hours 

We muse upon the perished past 
As o'er the fading flowers, 

And feel our wayward spirits stilled 
Into a quiet tune, — 

As sings a fountain plaintively 
Beneath the silent moon. 



THE SEA-SHELL. 23 



THE SEA-SHELL. 

Sadly the murmur, stealing 

Through the dim windings of the mazy shell, 
Seemeth some ocean-mystery concealing 

Within its cell ; 

And ever lowly breathing, 

As with the tone of far-off waves at play, 
That dreamy murmur through the sea-shell wreath- 
ing, 

Ne'er dies away. 

It is no faint replying 

Of distant melodies of wind and wave ; 
No echo of the ocean-billow, sighing 

Through gem-lit cave. 

It is no faint retaining 

Of sounds that through those hidden caverns swell ; 
But some lone ocean-spirit's sad complaining 

Within that cell. 

"Where are the waters flowing?" 

Thus breathes the ever-wailing spirit-tone ; 

" Where are the bright gems in their beauty glowing, 
In cavern lone ?" 



24 THE SEA-SHELL. 

" I languish for the ocean, — 

I pine to view the billow's heaving crest ; 
I miss the music of its dream-like motion, 

That hilled to rest/' 

" Where are the waters playing ? 
Where sleeps the cavern's still and gem-lit 
gloom ? 
For there, I know, sweet tones and sad, are stray- 
ing, 
That call me home !" 

In vain thy plaintive sighing, 

Lone ocean-sprite, — thy home is far away ; 
No kindred tones in tenderness replying 

Unto thy lay. 

Far off the waves are gleaming, 

Thy sisters stray 'mid groves of coral fair, 

And gem-light through those quiet bowers is stream- 
ing;— 
Thoic art not there ! 

How like art thou, sad spirit, 

To many an one, the lone ones of the earth. 
Who in the beauty of their souls inherit 

A purer birth. 



THE SKA-SHELL. 25 

They who for ever yearning, 

Pine for the glory of their distant home, 
TJnto its half- veiled beauty sadly turning 

From earthly gloom. 

Whose tones, for ever swelling, 

Pour forth the melody of burning thought ; 
From the sweet music of that far-off dwelling 

An echo caught. 

Like thine the plaintive sighing, 

Like thine the melody their spirits own ; 

No kindred voices to their own replying, 
No answering tone. 

They dream — they dream for ever ! 

They live in visions beautiful and vain ; 
And vain, alas ! the passionate endeavor 

To break their chain. 

But thoii) lone child of ocean, 

May'st never more behold thine ocean-foam, 
While they shall rest from each wild, sad emotion, 

And find their home ! 



2 



26 GENIUS. 



GENIUS. 



Spieit immortal and divine ! 

Whose calm and searching eye 
Looks forth upon the universe 

Its wonders to descry, — 
Whose eagle-wing, resistless, proud, 
Hath soared above each earthly cloud 

That here doth darkly spread, — 
I bow before thee, as of old 
The Grecian bowed to her who told 

The oracles of dread. 

For thou art Nature's prophet-priest, 

Anointed by her God, 
And dwellest in her sacred courts 

By others all untrod ; 
To thee alone 'tis given to raise 
The veil that shrouds from mortal gaze 

Her mysteries sublime ; 
To hear her sweet and solemn tone, 
Revealing wonders else unknown, 

In all the lapse of time. 

And more — the human heart is deep, 
And passionate, and strong, 



GENIUS. 27 

But thou may'st read its mystic page 

And search its depths among ; 
May'st bow it with thy spell of might, 
Or urge it to a prouder flight, 

A loftier desire — 
Till yielding to thy high control, 
The newly-wakened, eager soul, 

To purer things aspire. 

Thou dwellest on this lowly earth 

Majestic and alone ; 
Thy home is in a brighter clime 

Near the Eternal's throne, — 
And evermore, in tameless might, 
Still strivest thou to wing thy flight 

Its glory to attain ; — 
E'en as the eagle turns his eye, 
Though fettered, to his native sky 5 

And struggles with his chain. 

Men gaze in cold and wondering awe 

On thy inspired brow, 
But know not of the hidden things 

That darkly sleep below ; 
Nor how thou spurnest earth's control, 
What voices haunt thy troubled soul, 



28 GENIUS. 

What shadows pass thee by ; 
Thy dreams are of a holier sphere, 
A higher life — and even here 

Thy name shall never die ! 

Time hath rolled on in many a change — 

Old things have passed away, 
Nations have crumbled into dust, 

And empires seen decay, 
And proudly 'neath the self-same skies 
New splendors into glory rise 

Their little day to claim, — 
But let what chance or change betide, 
Still stand'st thou in thy lofty pride, 

For ever, and the same ! 

Sage ! musing in thy lonely cell, 

Aspiring, yet serene, 
Tracking afar the light of Truth, 

Through darkness dimly seen, — 
Bright gifted minds, thy words have caught, 
And pondered o'er thy lofty thought 

In aspiration high ; 
And eager eyes have scanned the page, 
Made clearer by the lapse of age, 

In which thy treasures lie. 



GENIUS. 29 

Bard ! lo, the thrilling strains that poured 

Thy soul's deep melodies 
Have waked in many an echoing heart 

Immortal sympathies ; 
Have lived through years of dull decay, 
When princely names have passed away 

That were a glory then ; 
Till every word hath thus become 
Like to a thrilling voice of home 

In hearts of lonely men. 

And ye, o'er whose inspired souls 

Strange shapes of beauty gleamed, 
Embodied unto mortal gaze 

In forms of heaven that seemed, — 
The marble still in beauty lives, 
The pictured canvas but receives 

New value in decay ; 
And both shall perish ere the name 
Of him who gave them unto fame 

Hath passed, like them, away. 

Thus Genius lives — its spirit, caught 

From heaven's own light afar, 
Shines tranquil 'mid the gloom of life, 

An ever-guiding star ; 



30 GENIUS. 

A shining beacon, given to show 
To those who darkly tread below 

The way our pathway tends ; 
A beauty and a mystery, 
A prophecy of things to be 

When earthly being ends. 



Thou shalt go forth in prouder might 

And firmer strength, ere long, 
And Truth shall guide thee on thy way 

With revelation strong ; 
And thou shalt see, with wondering eyes, 
The thousand mighty mysteries 

That round our being cling ; 
Unveiling truths where shadows lie 
Darkly before the doubting eye, 

Our souls bewildering. 



High souls have gazed on wondrous things, 
And men have called them dreams ; 

Yet they are such as mirrored stars 
Upon the quiet streams : 

We gaze upon the phantom-glow, — 

Alas ! we gaze too much below — 
And strive to grasp in vain ; 



THE CITY OF THE DEAD. 31 

But genius turns its eye afar, 
Where like a pure and fadeless star 
The glorious Truth is seen. 

Go forth, thou spirit proud and high, 

Upon thy soaring flight ! 
Thou art the messenger of God, 

And He will guide thee right. 
Go proudly forth, and fearlessly, 
For many a hidden mystery 

Awaits thee to unseal, — 
And men shall gaze in rapt surprise 
On wonders that to darkened eyes 

Thy brightness shall reveal ! 



-o- 



THE CITY OF THE DEAD. 

Coldly fair the moonlight falls 
O'er the sculptured marble walls 

Of that City, still and lone ; 
O'er the pillars, o'er the towers, 
Wreathed about with pallid flowers 

Springing from the sculptured stone ; 



32 THE CITY OF THE DEAD. 

Pallid flowers that tremble not 

As the faint wind o'er them passes, 
Bowing low the feathery grasses ; 
Pallid flowers that own not birth 
With the living ones of earth : 
To them the balmy airs of spring 
No quickening into life doth bring, 
To them the winter's chilling breath 
Bringeth never change or death. 

No echo in those dwellings lone, 

No voice of mirth and revelry — 
But with a sad and sullen sound 

The wind and waves go by ; 
The wind and waves go murmuring by, 

And mingling with their monotone 
Are strange and thrilling whispers heard, 

And voices not their own : 
No echo in the lonely street, 

No hurrying to and fro ; 
Only the shifting shadows meet 
And part, with slow and noiseless feet 

That tremble as they go ; 
Creeping slow, a sable pall, 
O'er each white and ghastly wall, 
Where is heard no revel's din, 
Where no footsteps enter in — 



MADONNA. 33 

Where no earthly sounds intrude 
On the awful solitude ; 
Creeping slowly, ever slowly, 
As the pallid moon sinks lowly 

Down the quiet sky, — 
To where, in chambers chill and lone, 
To the light and airs of heaven unknown, 

The dreamless sleepers lie : 
Creeping still, that sable pall, 
As Death creepeth over all ! 



MADONNA. 

Madonna ! in the golden light 

Down-pouring on thy pictured form 

From the stained window's arched height, 
Mellow, and rich, and warm — 

Lighting the halo on thy brow 

Into a living glow, 

Till scarce their radiance seems apart, — 

Like light and clouds at set of sun 

Softly melting into one, — 



34 MADONNA. 

How beautiful thou art ! 
How beautiful — as if in thee 

All we may deem of good and fair 
That woman hath been, and should be,- 

In mind and heart, in form and face, 

In outer charm and inner srrace, 
In nature's pure simplicity, — 

Were brightly imaged there. 

Thy wavy hair, a golden shower, 

Upon thy brow disposed apart, 
Half gathered in a glossy fold, 
Half down thy breast unrolled 

In graceful negligence of art, — 
Seems like the amber-tinted clouds, 

The golden-threaded clouds of eve, 
That float upon the silver sea 

The setting sun doth leave. 
Dimpling upon thy parted lips 

A breathing sweetness seems to lie, 
Like fragrance on a dewy rose ; 

Pictured alike to soul and sense, 

The spirit gently breathing thence, 
Doth more than simple words disclose 

The heart's rich eloquence, — 
Longing to pour itselfm prayer, 



MADONNA. 35 

Lest, pent within thy woman's breast, 
As a fountain in its sealed flow, 
The still-increasing waters grow 

Too mighty in their deep unrest, 
Too strong for thee to bear. 

Thine eyes beneath their drooping fringe 

In shadowy lustre gleam ; 
As clear and dark their tender blue 

As skies within a crystal stream. 
Softly their mingled light is blent, 

Love and sweet humility — 
Watching, alike with smiles and tears, 
Of hopes divine, and human fears, 

The baby on thy knee ; 
The blessed babe, w^hose starry eyes 

Gaze wistful upward into thine, 
Half in love, and sweet surprise ; 

While mingling with thy locks astray, 

His dimpled hands at play, 
Loosely within their baby-grasp 

The scattered tresses twine. 

Gazing upon thy pictured form, 

The woman's earnest soul revealing, 
A mystic impulse I obey 



36 THE LAND OF DREAMS. 

And yield me to a purer sway 

Of more than earthly feeling ; 
And a love all meek and holy 
On my spirit dawneth slowly, 

With a power half divine, — 
Till I wonder not to see 
Lowly head and humble knee 

Bowing at thy shrine ; 
Albeit from them I stand apart, — 
For pure and blessed as thou art, 
Thine was an earth-born mortal's lot- 
And human power sufficeth not 

When God himself is mine. 



THE LAND OF DREAMS. 

Far away — far away — 

'Neath the light of changeful skies, — 
Silver gleams, whose moonlike ray 
Melting into twilight gray 
Darken as they farther stray, — 

Still and deep, a valley lies. 



THE LAND OF DREAMS. 37 

Mortal eyes have never seen 

All the things that therein dwell, 
And the mystery that broods 
O'er those voiceless solitudes 

Mortal tongue may never tell ; 
For a realm of wondrous things, 

Shadows dark and dazzling gleams 
That bewilder human sense, 

To that mystic Land of Dreams. 

Times and seasons are there none 

In that far and wondrous land, 
And its still and breathless space 

By earthly airs are never fanned ; 
None may pierce its caverns' depths, 

None may mete its heavens' height, 
For they stretch too far away 

For the reach of human sight ; 
And a hazy light, and pale, 
Broods above its silent vale, 
Shrouding in a misty pall, 
The horizon's distant wall. 

In that dim, enchanted region 

Phantom-forms for ever range, 
Pale and wan, — a shadowy legion, — 



38 THE LAND OF DREAMS. 

Faces, motions, all things strange. 
Some are there who trod the earth 

Long ago, 
Others of whose mystic mirth 

None may know ; 
Pale, and wan, and silent all, 
Noiselessly their footsteps fall, — 
But within their glassy eyes 
Deep a mystic meaning lies, 
Saying, that around them dwell 
Secrets which they dare not tell. 

When the shadows, chill and dreary, 

Gather round the path of life, 
And our spirits, worn and weary, 

Faint beneath their fever-strife — 
Comes an angel, sweet and mild, 

Gently waves a viewless wand, 
Soothes us into calm repose, 

Leads us to that dreamy land. 
'Mid its pathless solitudes 

As our trembling spirits stray, 
Lo ! what strange and shadowy phantoms 

Hover round our haunted way ! 
Forms of beauty glide before us 

Lovely as a poet's vision — - 



THE LAND OF DREAMS. 39 

Gentle hands and airy pinions 

Beacon us to fields Elysean, — 
Fields that in strange beauty lie, 
Golden, 'neath a midnight sky. 
And our airy footsteps glide 
By some glassy river's side, 
Fair as fabled founts that rise 
In the vales of Paradise ; 
But their waters rise and fall 
Soft, and slow, and silent all ; 
Not a ripple, not a plash, 
Where the phantom-waters dash ; 
Not a whisper, not a sound, 
Thrills the breathless region round. 

Spirits of the long-departed 

Rise before us as we roam, — 
The beloved, the gentle-hearted 

That have left their earthly home. 
Some with meek and starry eyes, 
Gazing as through clouded skies ; 
Others, wearing beauty's bloom, 

Clasp us in their cold embrace ; 
Some uprising from the tomb — 

Oh, how sad each altered face ! 
Joys that in their angel-birth 



40 THE LAXD OF DEEAMS. 

Fled afar, a shadowy band, 
X evermore to visit earth, 

Greet us in that mystic land. 
Hopes in sunny brightness ranging, 
Love that dreameth not of changing, 
Promises our paths illuming, 
Pleasures blighted in their blooming, 
Idols far too dearly cherished, 

Some in hope, and some in fear, 
From our stricken hearts that perished,- 

All are here — all are here ! 
Wearing still each living trace 
Though amid a spectre-race. 

In the distance, far away, 

Like the caverns of unrest, 
'Mid whose gloom for ever wander 

Shapes of fear and forms unblest, 
That rise and start, and vanish by 
Suddenly and silently, 
With a thrill of dread and pain 
Frighting us to earth again. 
Oh how lonely seems it then, 

Oh how sad earth's pleasant places ! 
How our weary spirits yearn 

For the old familiar faces, — 



THE ADVENTURER. 41 



For the glance of tender eyes, 
For the flowers and the streams, 

For all fair and lovely things 
In the mystic Land of Dreams ! 



THE ADVENTURER. 

" The shore is lonely — the shore is dreary — 
The breeze is faint o'er the waters wide, 
Sinking adown with pinions weary — 
Sinking adown with the sobbing tide. 

" Idly upward the billows gliding, 
Murmur low on the shining sand ; 
Idly downward again subsiding 
Slowly lengthen the barren strand. 

" Far above, in the sunlight glowing, 

The sea-gulls wheel in their joyous play ; 
Far below, where the waves are flowing, 
Happy things in their gladness stray. 



42 THE ADVENTURER. 

" I cannot rest by the restless ocean, 
I cannot stay on the dreary shore ; 
Give me the billows' wild commotion, 
Give me the gathering tempest's roar ! 



" I cannot toil for the scanty treasure 
Cast aside by the idle wave ; 
Mine be toil in a bolder measure, — 

The strength of the angry sea to brave ! 

" Oft, as I mark the foam-wreaths gleaming 
Ghastly white on the midnight strand, 
I see a light through the darkness gleaming- 
A beacon bright to a distant land. 

" Oft, when the low winds, faintly sighing, 
Idly ruffle the billow's crest, 
I hear a voice to my own replying — 
A tone of promise — a tone of rest. 



u 



Faintly over the waters ringing, 
Sweet its music, and soft, and low ; 

Ne'er on earth was so sweet a singing — 
Hark ! it calls me — oh, let me go ! 



CHEISTMAS. 43 

" Tell me not of the warning beacon, 
Tell me not of the Syrens' strain ; 
Your fearful spirits may never reckon 

The joy that lies on the boundless main !" 

Bright and glad was the calm blue ocean — 
Gaily the light bark left the shore ; 

Wild and fierce grew the storm's commotion — 
The bark in its beauty returned no more ! 



•o- 



CHRISTMAS. 

On the frosty morning air 

The bells begin to chime, 
And they gaily ring a welcoming 

To the merry Christmas-time. 
Aloud they shout in a frantic rout, 

A wild and joyous din, 
While the cold and the tempest reign without, 

And happiness reigns within — 
While the grey Old Year is going out 

And the New Year coming in ! 



44 CHRISTMAS. 

The hearth is warm and bright 

Where the Christmas board is spread, 
And youth and childhood gather there 

With the bowed and hoary head. 
But pause awhile in the festive cheer, 

And be stilled the laugh and song, 
And let a brimming cup be poured 
As we gather round the festive board ; — 
A health to the old familiar year, 

That hath been with us so long ! 
The gray old year that is so dear — 

Having been with us so long ! 

Ah, he hath given us many a hope 

With the blossoms of the spring — 
And many a joy around us shed 
Of Summer promise, perfected 

In the Autumn's ripening : 
And if, perchance, a saddened brow 

A saddened thought express, 
Still fill the goblet to the brim 
And pledge a silent health to him — 
For a blighted bud or a withered leaf 

We love him not the lessl 
Then crown him with the ivy wreath — 

With rarest mistletoe ; 



CHRISTMAS. 45 

A health to thee, a pledge to thee, 

Old Year, ere thou dost go, 
And smiles to greet the Christmas time 

Though tears between them flow. 

TTe bless the Christmas-time, 

For a holy time it is ; 
A mingling of the New-Tear hopes 

With the Old Year memories. 
A holy time it is — 

As when in silent awe 
Upon Judea's plains afar 
The dawning of the wondrous star 

The Persian Magi saw : 
When the Delphic rites were stayed, 

And the Oracles were stilled, 
And faintly through the Sybil's caye 
And oyer Jordan's rushing waye 

Mysterious music thrilled : 
"When angel-yoices, heard on high, 

Bade strife and clamor cease, 
And old Etrurian Janus' shrine 
"Was closed before the reign divine 

Of him, the Prince of Peace. 
And the monkish legends say 

That when its dawning smiles 



46 CHRISTMAS. 

A beauteous dove with snowy wing 
Doth peace to man and pardon bring, 
And the martyr-saints together pray 

In the old Cathedral aisles. 
And the tale may well be true, 

Since in the homes of men 
A deeper love and a purer joy 

Warms every bosom then. 

Let us draw with happy hearts 

Round the yule-fire's ruddy blaze, 
With a pleasant song or a legend strange 

Of the olden Christmas days : 
Let the song and dance go on 

As the merry hours chime, 
And oft in the New Year's flowery track 
May we turn with grateful spirits back 

To the Old Tear's Christmas-time ! 



THE HOUSE OF MOURNING. 47 

THE HOUSE OF MOURNING. 

There's gloom upon the household, 

There's sadness round the hearth, 
And stilled is every bounding step 

And ringing voice of mirth ; 
And a silence like the hush of death, 

Through the darkened house is spread, 
As though the spot were hallowed still 

By the presence of the dead. 

There's a form no more among us, 

And a voice whose tones are still — 
There's a vacant seat at the silent board 

Which none again may fill ; 
There's a step our lone hearts daily miss 

From its old accustomed track ; 
There's a loved one gone from the lonely home, 

And in vain we call him back. 

We sit in silent sadness 

Around the evening hearth 
Where he so late was wont to sit, 

And smile upon our mirth ; 



48 THE HOUSE OF MOURNING. 

We gaze upon the vacant place 

With memories sad and deep, 
Till bowed with grief and tenderness 

We turn aside and weep. 

Oh, the home, the home is lonely 

Whence his kindly smile hath fled, 
Yet we cannot deem he is sleeping now 

In the chambers of the dead ; 
We start at every flitting shade 

And sound of coming feet, 
And turn toward the opening door 

His entering form to greet. 

Brightly the sunshine gleameth, 

And the spring-flowers brightly bloom, — • 
But o'er our hearts doth a darkness brood 

From the shadow of the tomb. 
And evermore must the home be sad, 

And our hearts with anguish yearn 
For him who went so silently 

To the land whence none return! 



FIRE-LIGHT MUSINGS. 49 

FIRE-LIGHT MUSINGS. 

When night's shadows gather slowly 
O'er the bright day's gentle close, 

Like a soul all pure and holy 
Sinking into death's repose, — 

When we sit in silent musing 

By the fire-side's ruddy glow, 
While the flames their light diffusing 

Phantom-shadows round us throw, — 

Softly o'er the spirit stealing 

Comes the light of other days, — 

Like that flickering flame, revealing 
Phantom-shadows to the gaze. 

Feelings which have long lain hidden, 

Buried in the spirit's gloom, 
Spring to light and life unbidden 

From the stillness of their tomb. 

Thoughts of joy, and thoughts of sorrow, 

Hopes and visions passed away, 
Dreamings of the dim to-morrow, 

Memories of the vanished day, — 
3 



50 FIKE-LIGHT MUSINGS. 

"Words unheeded in their speaking, 
Smiles and glances long since o'er, — 

From their death-like slumber waking 
Live within our hearts once more. 

In the soul lies no forgetting 
Howsoe'er its memories sleep, 

And o'er each some sad regretting 
Doth a tearful vigil keep — 

Stirring many a deeper feeling, 
Teaching many a mournful truth, 

"Whose stern tones come seldom stealing 
O'er the thoughtless heart of youth. 

Till we pine with weary yearning 
For the things that are no more ; 

From life's fairest promise turning 
To what earth may not restore. 

And the Present stands before us — ■ 
Fleeting moments sadly say, 
" Darkening shades come stealing o'er us,- 
We are hasting fast away. 

" Grasp us ere our being perish, 

Sinking in the wasted past : 

Win from us a gem to cherish 

In the future, dim and vast. 



ALONE. 51 



" And so live, your bright gifts using, 
Time and talent rightly spent, 
That your future fire-side musing 
With no sad reproach be blent." 



■o- 



ALONE. 

Thrills a whisper on the stillness, 

Murmuring in a quiet tone, 
Half of joy, and half of sadness, 

"All alone!" 
All alone, while softly round thee 

Fades the sunset's rosy gleam : 
While a spell of thought hath bound thee 

Deepening to a quiet dream : 
Softly thrills the whispered tone — 
Softly murmurs, "All alone!" 

All alone ! 
Now may fancy fold her wings 

In a sober contemplation, 
Shrouded in the silent joy 

Of holy meditation. 



52 ALONE. 

Now may pleasant dreams arise — 

Oh, delight ! 
As some beauteous cloud-land lies 
Imaged in the starry skies, 

Still and bright : 
Pleasant thoughts and fancies rare, 

Mingling fitfully and free, 
"Whose airy changes come and go 
With a silver chime and a rippling flow, 
Blending in their motions slow 

To a dream-like melody, — 
Or swelling with a sudden sweep 
Of thrilling changes, rich and deep ! 
Like an iEolian harp, that wakes 

No certain air, no measured tone, 
But in its fitful sweetness makes 
A music all its own. 



" All alone !» 
Sadly die the tones away 

With a melancholy thrill, 
As the shadows gather round 
Dark and still ! 

But amid the heart's deep chambers 
Echoes still the mournful tone, 



ALONE. 53 

As sighs the wind through ruined walls 
Of lonely and forsaken halls ; 

" All alone ! 
Vain thy dreams of loveliness — 
Who may share that silent bliss ? 
Of thy pleasure, of thy woe, 
Who the secret depths may know? 
In thy fancies wild and free 
None to share those thoughts with thee. 
Thou art sad and lonely now — 
Shadows brood o'er heart and brow : 
Mid glad smiles and voices gay 
Thou art dwelling far away ; 
Seeking what may not be found, 
Hearing still what hath no sound, 
Seeing what none else may see — 
Lonely still thy heart must be !" 



54 ISABEL. 

ISABEL* 

Bring lily bells to twine amid her dark and glossy 

hair ; 
Bring stainless flowers, meet to deck a brow so 

young and fair ; 
And gather round her in the bloom of youthful 

beauty's pride, 
With blessings and with smiles for her so soon to 

be a bride. 

But marble pale beneath the veil gleams up the 

lovely brow ; 
The smiling lip, the gladsome voice, are still and 

silent now. 
There is no color on her cheek, no light within her 

eyes, 
And on the fair and settled face a solemn stillness 

lies. 

Oh, not for him, the loved and true, for whom she 

waited long, 
Not for the joyous festival, the happy bridal throng, 



* In memory of Miss Isabel Stuart Waller, of Virginia, 



ISABEL. 55 

But for a sterner, sadder scene, those stainless 

flowers bloom, 
That blossomed for her bridal wreath to fade upon 

her tomb. 

Yet bear her in her beauty down unto her dream- 
less rest ; 

Give gently unto death's embrace the beautiful — the 
blest ; 

And mingled with the solemn dirge let songs of 
praise arise 

That earth hath from its treasures given an angel to 
the skies. 

And thou, whose dearest hope is crushed untimely 

to the dust, 
Look up in pure and holy faith — in high and solemn 

trust — 
For in the far unfolding years a blessing waits thee 

yet— 
A love on whose unfading truth a deathless seal is 

set. 

For to that stricken earthly love immortal bloom is 
given, 

And the vow she should have spoken here is regis- 
tered in heaven ; 



56 THE PHANTOM ARMY. 

She hath but gone in beauty's bloom, in love's tri- 
umphant power, 

As fades a pure unfolding rose at morning's dewy 
hour. 

A little while, a little while, and thou, with sorrow 

tossed, 
Who mournest by Life's dreary sea, thy beautiful, 

thy lost, 
Upon that fair and happy shore where death can 

ne'er betide, 
Shall meet again thine angel love — shall greet thine 

angel bride. 



THE PHANTOM ARMY. 

A LEGEND OF THE ODENWALD. 

A sound amid the Odenwald — 

A deep and swelling sound ! 
It echoes on the midnight blast, 

It thrills the region round. 



THE PHANTOM ARMY. 57 

'Tis not the rock of the forest pines, 

Nor the gathering tempest's roar, 
Nor the angry boom of the distant surge 

Upon the rocky shore. 

It rose afar on the battle field 

Where a thousand men were slain, 
Though now the blood-stained soil is rich 

With the flush of golden grain. 
A trumpet's sudden blast was heard, 

And the reapers paused in dread — 
For they heard around them the clash of steel 

And a viewless army's tread. 

Onward over the field it passed, 

And up to the mountain's brow ; 
And deep is the mystic clangor heard 

In the quiet vale below. 
The mountain vulture shrieks in dread 

As the sound goes rushing by, 
And loud is the roar of the tossing pines 

Beneath the stormy sky. 

The lonely street is hushed and dim — 

'Tis the middle watch of night, — 
When, hark ! ariseth a distant sound, 

Like an army's gathering might. 
3* 



58 THE PHANTOM ARMY. 

Arise ! arise ! and the sword is grasped, 

Bent is the trusty bow, 
And a thousand manly hearts go forth 

To meet the coming foe. 

Each breath is stilled with a trembling dread, 

Each pallid face aghast — 
For nought is seen in the moonlit street 

As the ringing sounds go past. 
Through the mighty city's midst it went, 

And through the startled glen, — 
The fiery rushing of battle steeds, 

And the tramp of armed men. 

The morn is up on the Odenwald, 

On the mount and in the vale — 
And manhood's haughty brow is stern, 

And woman's cheek is pale ; 
And the chieftain leaves the forest-chase, 

And binds his armor on, 
For he knows by the march of the phantom-train 

That a battle must be done. 

Wild and fierce was the stormy fight, 

And the field was red that day — 
But the foe are many, their ranks are strong, 

And the mountain bands give way. 



THE PHANTOM ABMY. 59 

Why do the victors pause in dread ? 

Why are their cheeks so pale ? 
The sound of a coming armament 

Is heard adown the vale. 

No mailed rider's form is seen, 

No falchion glancing bright, — 
But the distant sounds are near and loud, 

And they mingle with the fight. 
Woe, for the mountain-chieftain's foe 

In that dread and stormy hour ! 
They are swept away like the fleeting chaff 

Before the tempest's power. 

They hear the tramp of the rushing steed, 

But its form is seen by none ; 
Vainly they strike at the viewless spear, 

As the life drops swiftly run ; 
Till scattered over the plain they fly, — 

And ere the evening's close 
Through the quiet homes of the Odenwald 

The songs of triumph rose ! 



60 THE LADY OF LODEE. 



THE LADY OF LODEE. 

The night is calm, the night is clear — 

The night is still as a night may be, 
Where, hidden half in the dusky vale, 
And half revealed in the moonlight pale, 

Are the walls of grim Lodee. 
The forest behind is still and dark, 

The river maketh a moan below, 
And all around in the stagnant moat 

The matted rushes dankly grow ; 
And glistening lizards nimbly crawl 
Over the buttress and up the wall, 
And writhe about in slippery sheen, 
Like silver coils in the waters green. 

Eleven strokes on the Castle bell ! 

Deep and drear doth the echo grow ; 
It shrieketh down from the tower above, 

It groaneth up from the vault below. 
No wakeful warder's answering call, 
No cheery voice from the Castle wall, 

Is heard to give reply — 
Only the whoop of a startled owl, 
Only a watch-dog's boding howl, 

Only a raven's cry, 



THE LADY OF LODEE. 61 

Only a groan from the mountain side, 
As the lingering echoes slowly died. 

But who so late -at the window high 

Where dimly gleameth the beacon-light, 
With pallid cheek and eager eye 

Looks forth upon the night ? 
It is the Lady of Lodee 

Who watcheth for her absent lord ; 
The summer flowers have bloomed and died 
Since last to see his lonely bride 

He crossed the river's ford. 
To-night she scarcely dares to hope — 

Her soul with a nameless dread is sick ; 
She seeth the arras slowly move, 

She heareth the death-watch slowly tick. 
Three courses now the moon hath run, 
Why cometh not the Earlie's son ? 

Oh, the Earlie he was wondrous proud, 
For he was a lord of high degree, — 
And he swore his son should never wed 

The Lady of Lodee, 
For nobler ladies might be won 
More meet to wed with an Earlie's son, 
And the beauteous Countess Hermione 
Was wealthier far than she. 



62 THE LADY OF LODEE. 

But the Earlie's son had a haughty heart, 

And ne'er had yielded his will to man, 
So he wedded the Lady secretly, 

In dread of his father's ban. 
The bridegroom dwells in his stately halls, 

The bride, she dwelleth in grim Lodee, 
And save when cometh the Earlie's son 

Weary and sad is she. 

The Lady looks on the starry night, 

She looketh forth right mournfully — 
When lo ! she seeth within the vale 
A gallant knight on a charger pale, 

Spurring as fast as fast may be ! 
The drawbridge falls with an iron clang, 

Open flyeth the portal wide, 
And the sounding pave and the arches ring 

To a proud impatient stride. 
The lovely lady's grief is done — 

For very happiness weepeth she — 
And she threw her arms round the Earlie's son, 

The Lady of Lodee ! 

Twelve ! hath stricken the Castle bell — 
Ah, how fast do the moments run ! 

The lady sits in the banquet hall, 
And by her sitteth the Earlie's son. 



THE LADY OF LODEE. 63 

Oh tall is he, and fair to see, 

With his golden locks and his flashing eye, 
And a winning smile in sooth hath he, 

Albeit his bearing high. 
He sits him down by the lady's side — 
Ne'er had bridegroom a fairer bride ; 
Her lily hand in her love's is placed, 

Her lovely head is upon his breast, 
Coldly he claspeth her slender waist, 

Coldly his lip to hers is pressed ; 
The lady raiseth her starry eyes, 
She seeketh his glance with sad surprise ; 
But the Earlie's son he turns away, 

With his jewelled dagger he lightly plays — 
He glanceth around right fitfully, 

He shunneth the lady's gaze. 



But the lady's cheek is very pale — 
Cold as the sculptured stone is she ; 

Her eyes are fixed with a startled gaze, 
And her lips part pale and breathlessly. 

Oh, she hath seen on her bridegroom's breast 
The pictured form of a lady fair, 
With its tender eyes, and its jewelled hair, 

Sharing her own dear place of rest, 
And deftly hid with a jealous care ; 



64 THE LADY OF LODEE. 

'Mid the broidered folds it brightly shone, 

Pressed to the heart so late her own. 

She hath withdrawn from the chill embrace— 

Pale, and silent, and still, is she ; 
Cold and colorless is her face 

As that of the dead may be. 

Upriseth, then, the Earlie's son . 

And leadeth her to the banquet board ; 
Aside he flingeth the jewelled blade, 

In the golden goblet the wine he poured. 
M Drink to me, drink to me, lady fair," 

With a winning smile on his lip, he said — 
Twill light thine eye with a brighter glow, 

'Twill dye thy lip of a deeper red. 
It is not meet," said the Earlie's son, 
1 That a gallant knight should drink alone. 
Brim me, lady, a loving pledge — 

Faith, affection, and constancy ! 
Sworn for ever in heart and hand, 

In life and death may our union be !" 
Thus hath spoken the Earlie's son. 

Thus wuth a winning smile spoke he, 
As the cup presents with a knightly grace 

Low on his bended knee. 
Why is his cheek so guilty pale ? 
Why doth his eye beibre her quail ? 



U ' 



THE LADY OF LODEE. 65 

Her cheek like his, is marble white, 
But her hand is firm, and her eye is bright : 
" Faith, affection, and constancy — 
In life and death shall our union be !" 
Bitterly then the lady laughed 

As she grasped the goblet of gold ; 
Yet she freely quaffed of the fatal draught — 

Oh, it was icy cold ! 

A sudden clang in the banquet-hall ! 

Loud and deep was the startling shock ; 
Echo to echo thunders back, 

Till the very castle seems to rock. 
The massy shield and the dented helm 

That long have hung on the bannered wall, 
Prone have stricken the marble floor, 

And one of the living soon must fall ; 
For never yet did that sign betide 
But one who saw it hath surely died. 
Oh, the Earlie's son is pale in sooth — 

He glanceth round with a guilty dread, 
And from the cup in his trembling hand 

Like blood is the bright wine shed. 
But as he meeteth the lady's eye 
He laugheth aloud and scornfully ; 
He laugheth aloud, that guileful man, 
He laugheth as loud as laugh he can, 



66 THE LADY OF LODEE. 

And hollow laughter seems to flow 
Through the sounding pave from the vaults 

below, 
As though the dead did mocking call. 
On the name of that guilty Bacchanal. 

Little recketh the Earlie's son — 

What are the mouldering dead to him ? 
Again he filleth the jewelled cup, 

He fills it up to the very brim. 
Deeply he drinketh, and loudly laughs — 

Fast and faster the wine he poured ; 
Beaker and goblet draineth he 

Till nought is left on the banquet board. 
Then down the goblet he madly flung, 
While pave and dome to the clangor rung, 
And ere the echo hath died away 
Prone, at length, on the floor he lay. 

Oh, it was wondrous sad to see 

The lovely lady of Lodee 

Kneeling down by that traitor's side — 

Kneeling low on the floor of stone, 
With her raven locks unbound 

And her white arms around him thrown. 
She cooled his brow with her marble hand, 

She pillowed his head upon her breast ; 



THE LADY OF LODEE. 67 

She pressed her pale cheek to his own, 

And soothed his brain with a low sweet tone, 

As a mother lulls her babe to rest. 
A strange wild light was in her eye— 
5 Twas partly love's intensity, 
And partly 'twas the jealous hate 
That maketh love so desolate. 

One ! hath stricken the castle bell — 

Slowly the echoes swell and fall ; 
The stars are bright in the quiet sky, 

But darkness reigns in the festal hall. 
Deeply sleepeth the Earlie's son, 
Yet still the lady singeth on ; 
She singeth on in a quiet tone, 

Like the dreamy ripple of a stream, 
And the pleasant music seems to blend 

With the music of love's dream, 
For the Earlie's son in his tranquil rest 
Smiles as a babe on its mother's breast, 
And mivmurs in a loving tone 
Of the beauteous Countess Hermione. 

Why is the lady's cheek so pale ? 

Why is her eye so wildly bright ? 
And lo ! in her white uplifted hand 

A gleam of steel in the pale moonlight ! 



68 THE LADY OF LODEE. 

Woe, alas ! for the Earlie's son — 
Yet still the lady singeth on. 

Was it the moan of the sighing wind 

That moaned so soft, and faint, and deep — 
Or else, what aileth the Earlie's son 

That he moaneth in his sleep ? 
But crimson red is the lady's hand, 

And crimson red is the marble floor, 
And slowly adown the sleeper's breast 

Stealeth the trickling gore. 
Ah, woman's love is deep and strong, 

And woman's hate is keen, I wis, 
But who might deem that lady fair 

Could do a deed like this ? 

She laid her love on a downy couch, 

She softly parted the silken hair — 
His brow was white as the winter snow, 

Oh, never yet had he seemed so fair ! 
Long she gazed on the noble face, 

Long she played with the locks of gold ; 
She wiped the blood from his lip and breast, 
And wrapped his form in a sable vest, 

For he was white and cold ! 
And ever, still, in a plaintive tone 
She singeth, and singeth, and singeth on. 



THE LADY OF LODEE. 69 

Two ! hath echoed the castle bell ! 

All is silent in bower and hall ; 
The moonbeams glint on the chequered floor, 

The shadows creep on the fretted wall. 
The death-watch counteth the moments well, 

He ticketh them slowly, one by one ; 
Still and cold is the lady fair, 

Still and cold is the Earlie's son. 
Both are sleeping the sleep of death, 

No more they love or hatred feel ; 
Woe, alas ! for the poisoned cup 

Woe, for the blood-red steel ! 

Yet oft, they say, when the night is hush, 

And the moonlight glimmers on grim Lodee, 
A pale sweet face from the window's height 

Looks forth so wan and wistfully, 
And a voice is heard from the turret lone 

Singing, and singing, and singing on ; 
And many a lovely cheek turns pale, 

And many a heart beats fitfully 
As they tell the tale of the Earlie's son 

And the Lady of Lodee ! 



*I0 THE SOUL'S CREED. 



THE SOUL'S CREED. 

Late, as in my lonely chamber sat I as the day 

declined, 
Meditation o'er my spirit magic spells of thought 

entwined 
And a thousand fancies flitted through the temple 

of my mind. 



Gazing on the glowing heavens, with the sunset 

splendor dyed, 
Lo ! the orb of night uprising with one pale star by 

her side, 
Waxing into fuller beauty, brightening into queenly 

pride. 



And the fleecy clouds around her softly spread each 
silver sail, 

Pilots of the coming twilight floating on the south- 
ern gale, 

Laden as with costly treasure — amethyst and topaz 
pale. 



THE SOUL'S CREED. "71 

Far across a boundless ocean, far across a waveless 

sea, 
Rose a vision fair as ever graced a tale of fairyrie — 
Palaces of gleaming marble, stately* halls of por- 
phyry. 

Through the wide and burnished portals flowed a 
radiance rich and rare, 

Snowy banners, mist-empurpled, floated on the gol- 
den air ; 

Ne'er in tales of Eastern Geni, rose a vision half so 
fair. 

And a spell of quiet beauty, breathing from that 

world of light, 
Fell upon my happy spirit with a still and deep 

delight ; 
Dreams of all most pure and holy, — dreams of all 

most fair and bright. 

Deeper grew the purple twilight, melting into misty 

haze, 
Slowly then the cloud-built palace faded from my 

yearning gaze ; 
Floated far the blackened banners — died away the 

portal's blaze. 



72 THE SOUL'S CREED. 

Whispered then a thought, upspringing from my 

spirit's loneliness : 
"Earth is dim, and life is dreary — pleasure daily 

groweth less ; 
What i£ fairest soonest fadeth — naught is left but 

weariness. 

" Dreams of all most fair and holy in our yearning 

hearts are shrined, 
But the real living image never upon earth we 

find, 
And we only deem that such is from that seeming 

in the mind. 

" Still believing, still pursuing, who may reach the 
promised goal ? 

Oh, it is a weary waiting, 'tis a mockery to the 
soul — 

Immortality still striving 'gainst mortality's con- 
trol. 

" Cast aside the haunting visions — bid their mockery 

depart ; 
Leave the realm of dreams, and mingle in the world's 

unquiet mart, 
Stilling 'mid its billowy strife the syren music in thy 

heart !» 



THE SOUL'S CREED. 73 

Ceased that voice of sad complaining — seemed a 

gentle presence near, 
And arose an angel-whisper, soft, and sweet, and 

silver-clear ; 
w Wherefore droopest thou, sad spirit ? Rouse 

thee ! be of better cheer !" 

Like a ray of sunlight streaming o'er a dark and 

troubled sea, 
Rife with hope, and peace, and gladness, came that 

whisper unto me ; 
Clearing off the clouds of evil, causing me the good 

to see. 

Telling me of many things unwrit in worldly wis- 
dom's store, 

While I mused with child-like credence things I 
never dreamed before — 

Gleaning from that mystic teaching precious gems 
of nature's lore. 

Telling that despite the teaching by those skeptic 

voices said, 
Pure and holy is the nature in its Maker's image 

made, 
rhough the blight of mortal evil o'er its lustre cast 

a shade. 

4 



74 THE SOUL'S CKEED. 

And its course is ever upward, onward, like the ris- 
ing sun ; 

Waxing e'er in light and power as the myriad ages 
run ; 

Loftiest of earth's attainments but its untold power 
begun. 

But the dawn of unknown ages, still ascending, 
higher, higher — 

Unto which the soul's free impulse doth unconsci- 
ously aspire, 

Back unto the glorious source from whence it drew 
its vital fire. 

Therefore, every aspiration, every pure and noble 

thought, 
Is a faint and far reflection from its Maker's image 

caught, 
Guiding to those deathless truths by creeds and 

doctrines vainly taught. 

Earnest of a brighter future, prophecy of things to 
be 

Are those yearning aspirations, seeming but a phan- 
tasy; 

Fades the rainbow, but its promise in the future 
still we see ! 



THE OWL. 15 



THE OWL. 



Wizard bird of the solemn night ! 

What dost thou 
Brooding alone in the dreary height 
Of the old church steeple, with ivy dight ? 

Chill and lonely it is, I trow ! 
Chill and lone as the sunken graves 

That lie beneath, 
Under the dripping, mouldering eaves, 
The blackened moss, and the matted leaves, 

That tell of death. 



When the wintry winds all rudely blow 

Through the stormy skies, 
And the skeleton trees their shadows throw 
O'er the dreary waste of drifted snow, 

Farther still as the daylight dies, — 
And into the coming darkness reach, 
Shadow and shadow, each to each, 

Till both are one, — 
Thou flittest forth in the chilly light 
To haunt the hours of the lonely night 

Till night is done. 



f 6 THE LADY GERALDINE. 

A weird and a ghostly thing thou art, 

Thou hermit grim ! 
Thou that lovest alone to brood 
Up in the dreary solitude 

Of thy cloister dim, 
With glassy eyes and folded wings, — 

Like a weird and wizard monk of old, 

Musing on what may not be told, 
Planning unholy things ! 



THE LADY GERALDINE. 

" Oh, wherefore is thy cheek so pale, and dimmed 

those eyes of thine ? 
And wherefore droop thy pearly lids, sweet Lady 

Geraldine ? 
Thou, that wert wild as summer waves that ripple 

on the shore — 
Thou, that wert gay as summer flowers when light 

winds sweep them o'er ! " 



THE LADY GERALDINE. 77 

Still lowly bowed the graceful head, and drooped 

, the fringed lid, 

And heavily on either lash the tear-drop shone 

unbid ; 
And sadder grew the pensive brow, and paler grew 

the cheek, 
And though the lips essayed a smile, no answer 

might they speak. 



And thoughtfully the Baron gazed upon the lovely 

face, 
And the mien that was so proud before, now wore 

a softer grace. 
"I'll charm away this pensive mood — I'll win a 

smile of thine ; 
I'll tell to thee a tale of love, sweet Lady Geraldine ! 



" There was a knight — I need not tell his name or 

his degree ; 
He loved a lady, fair and proud as thou thyself 

mayst be. 
And long he sought to win a smile in tournament 

and hall, 
But she had other loves than his, and smiled upon 

them all. 



78 THE LADY GERALDI^TE. 

"He dreamed of her by night, and he mused on her 

by day, 
But ever as he sought her side, she proudly turned 

away, 
He knew he might not win that heart — a heart as 

cold as thine." 
" Faint heart ne'er won a lady fair," said Lady Ge- 

raldine. 

" The knight went forth and sought renown on dis- 
tant battle-field, 

And dented was his iron helm, and cloven was his 
shield ; 

But still his battle cry was heard, where swords 
were seen to shine — 

4 Saint Michael ! for the Holy Rood, and Lady 
Geraldine ! ' 

" Then in the flush of victory he sought that lady 
proud ; 

They told him that her hand and heart were to 
another vowed. 

Oh, better had he perished on the fields of Pales- 
tine ! " 

" Oh, better had he told his love," said Lady Geral- 
dine. 



THE LADY GERALDINE. 79 

Then earnestly the Baron gazed upon the glowing 

cheek, 
And read the truth the timid lips were far too proud 

to speak. 
" Oh, he hath told his love — then say, what answer 

shall be mine ? 
Oh, but a look, a word of hope, sweet Lady Geral- 

dine ! " 

A smile is on the trembling lip, a tear within the 

eye,— 
The yielding of the lily hand was all that made 

reply ; 
But happiest of fair and brave upon the castled 

Rhine 
Are the Baron and his beauteous bride, the Lady 

Geraldine ! 



80 ELD. 



ELD. 



In" a mist-enshrouded valley 

Rolls a river, deep and wide ; 
Cities vast, and lonely forests, 

Echo to its rushing tide ; 
From a darksome cave it cometh, 

Rolling on in haughty might 
Down unto a shoreless ocean, 

Silent as the realm of night. 

Where the waters, slow receding, 

Long have left the lifeless strand, 
Fearful in its haunted stillness 

Doth a hoary castle stand ; 
Darkly rise the ruined towers, 

Whence all sign of life hath fled, — 
Ghostly seem the vacant windows, 

Like the cold eyes of the dead. 

Heavily the blackened shadows 
O'er the trembling waves are cast ; 

O'er the threshold stone, for ages 
Living foot hath never passed, 



ELD. 81 

For a grim and spectral warden 

Ever at the gate appears; — 
Noteth he the passing moments, 

Count eth he the rolling years. 

Lo ! within that grated portal 

Pale and shadowy forms appear ; 
Some with high and haughty bearing, 

Some with mien of guilt and fear ; 
Warriors clad in rusted armor, 

Ladies decked in jewels rare ; — 
Some with bosoms bare and gory, 

Some with pale hands clasped in prayer. 

In a long and dim procession 

Slowly pass the phantoms by, 
Each into the distance gazing 

With a fixed unconscious eye. 
There is heard no clank of armor 

As the stony pave they tread, — 
Not a word and not a whisper 

From the pale lips of the dead. 

In that old and haunted castle, 

In a chamber vast and lone, 

Sitteth one of aspect hoary 

High upon a crumbling throne ; 
4* 



82 ELD. 

In his fingers cold and lifeless, 

Still the iron pen is held ; 
On the dusky pavement scattered, 

Lie the Chronicles of Eld. 

Once, within that ancient castle — 

So those olden records say, — 
Gallant knights and beauteous ladies 

Walked in splendor's proud array ; 
There, within those gorgeous chambers, 

Princely pageants brightly shone, — 
There, amid those secret dungeons, 

Many a guilty deed was done. 

There was seen the gleam of jewels, 

There was heard the trumpet's clang ; 
Mingled with the sounds of wailing 

Richest notes of triumph rang ; 
Now those voices all are silent, 

Now those mingled forms are fled ; 
Now those halls are haunted only 

By the pale and silent dead. 



CLOISTERED. 83 



CLOISTERED. 

Though not in cloisters dim and cold, 
'Mid gloomy cells and arches old, 
My wasted hands I meekly fold ; — 

Though not where midnight tapers shine 
I kneel before some sainted shrine 
With hymn and orison divine, — 

Nor vow myself to "love and sigh" 
With those who shun each earthly tie, 
Alone to live, alone to die ; — 

Yet like to these my task is done — 
My sands of life in silence run ; 
I am, in very sooth, a nun. 

Like these I musing dwell apart, 
Like these I bear a sealed heart, 
Where worldly image hath no part. 

No curious eyes, no voices rude, 
No empty vanities intrude 
Upon my cloistered solitude. 



84 CLOISTERED. 

But gentle thoughts, unsummoned, dwell 

Like angels, in my lonely cell, 

And soothe me with their holy spell. 

And sad, regretful thoughts arise, 
And, clad in penitential guise, 
Look on me with their tearful eyes. 

And soothed amid that calm retreat 
Pour out their precious ointment sweet, 
And bathe with tears those angels' feet. 



Oh worldly pomps, I pass ye by : 
Te are but shadows to mine eye, 
As clouds that o'er the waters fly. 

No echo in my soul ye wake, 
No ripple on the surface break ; 
Ye cannot stir that silent lake. 

For wrapped in quiet, still it lies, 
All veiled and hid from human eyes, 
Beneath the vast and solemn skies. 



CLOISTERED. 85 

Where, when the twilight day is done, 
The stars, uprising one by one, 
Move in their silent splendor on, 

And make a glory on its breast, 

A calm repose, a starry rest, — 

In gloom and radiance doubly blest. 



Meek sisterhood, who all your days 

But count your beads and chant your lays, 

In prayer, and penitence, and praise, — 

I marvel, if, in moods divine, 

While kneeling at your Lady's shrine, 

Ye know so deep a peace as mine. 

Yet though, like ye, I dwell apart, 
And bear as ye a sealed heart, 
My worship hath no aid of art. 

I own no narrow form or creed ; 
In hope I praise, in faith I plead, 
And God is all my soul doth need. 



86 DESPONDING GENIUS. 

I ask on Him to rest my care, 
His love within my heart to bear, 
To feel His presence everywhere ; 

And in all storms that round me break, 
This simple prayer alone to make, — 
" Forgive and save, for Jesus' sake !" 



DESPONDING GENIUS. 

Thou that droopest, sad and weary, 

Where life's troubled waters flow, 
While above thy pathway dreary 

Clouds are brooding low, — 
Cast aside the coward sorrow — 
Lo ! for thee a bright to-morrow 

Dawneth in the heavens wide, 
And an angel that thou seest not 

Standeth by thy side. 

What though cherished hopes deceive thee ? 
What though worldly spirits grieve thee ? 



DESPOXDIXG GENIUS. 87 

Droop then not — the fate defy ; 

Smile, and let them pass thee by. 
Scorning fear and weak dismay 
Go thou proudly on thy way — 

On thyself rely ! 
Rise, as on an eagle's pinion, 

Calmly, proudly over all — 
For thou rul'st a wide dominion 

Which can never fall. 
Thou art King — by God anointed ! 

Say, what earthly power can bend thee ? 
By His mighty will appointed 

Glorious Genii here attend thee. 
All the wealth of earth and sea, 
All the human powers that be, 

May not win them to their bidding, 
Yet they wait on thee, — 

Ready still thy will to do 

So thou to thyself be true. 

Thou that of thy lot complaineth, 

Rise ! thine energies unroll. 
Kingly power before thee waneth ; — 
Mightier far art thou that reigneth 

O'er the empire of the soul. 
High upon that glorious throne, 
Monarch crowned ! thou rul'st alone ; 



88 SPKING. 

And its melodies shall echo, 

And its light afar shall shine, 
Till earth's fairest sons, and noblest, - 

Answer back to thine. 
They shall love thee, dearly love thee, 

For they know thee as thou art. 
Soul shall unto soul give answer, — 

Heart reply to heart ! 
Rouse thee then ! be firm, elate ; 

Bid despondence flee. 
Only little souls would grieve thee — 

What are such to thee ? 
Seek the good, the pure, the great, 

For many such there be, 
And as thou art to them inclined 
So shalt thou love and cheering find, 

So shall they strengthen thee ! 



SPRING. 

The happy Spring hath woke to birth 
And all the sky, and all the earth, 
Are freshening into gleeful mirth, 

With song and perfume everywhere. 



SPRING. 89 

I feel the breezes lightly pass, 
I see the violets in the grass, 
And fleecy clouds, a pearly mass, 
Float o'er the waters fair. 

A newer life is in my heart, 

I feel its springs more freshly start, 

I feel my spirit but a part 

Of happy sea, and earth, and air. 
And through the world I long to go, 
Where flowers bloom and waters flow, 
And every joy of nature know, 

And every beauty rare. 

Pass softly on, sweet April hours, 

In mingled bloom, and light, and showers, 

For June will come with leafy bowers, 

And autumn with its fruitage fair. 
Through all the seasons' flight I range, 
And dreading neither chill nor change, 
The love that nothing can estrange 

Shall make it summer everywhere. 



90 THE FORTUNE-TELLEB. 



THE FORTUNE-TELLER. 

The pleasant summer shower was o'er, 

The eve was waxing late, 
When 'neath the aspen boughs I stood, 
And idly leant, in listless mood, 

Upon the garden gate. 

I looked into the distant east, 

And it was dim and blue, 
So like the dreamy past it seemed, — 
But then I of the future dreamed, 
And turned me to the west, where gleamed 

A gold and crimson hue. 

And as I turned, a gentle hand 

Was on my shoulder laid, 
And, clad in many-hued array, 
Before me in the twilight gray 

There stood a Gipsey-maid. 

Her raven tresses floated free — 

Her eye was bright and wild ; 
And full of haughty grace was she, 
Half with a woman's dignity, 

And half a simple child. 



THE EORTUXE-TELLER. 91 

" I'll tell thy fortune," then she said, 
" For silver or for gold." 
I smiled, and gently shook my head ; 
" It needeth not — my doom is read, 
My fate already told." 

She took my hand within her own, 

She scanned each mystic trace ; 
And in her dark unfathomed eyes 
There came a look of slow surprise ; 
She loosed my hand, and earnestly 

She gazed into my face. 

And " Is it good or ill ?" I said ; 

Awhile she answered not ; 
Till half in hope, and half in fear, 
I begged my future fate to hear ; 
" Of all that I have read," said she, 
" Thine is the strangest lot." 



" Then tell it me — for good or ill, 
For silver or for gold." 
She shook her head, and turned away ; 
Half to herself she seemed to say 
" ■ Twere better left untold." 



92 THE FORTUNE-TELLER. 

" Is there no token," then I said, 
" To warn me, or to cheer ?" 
She paused, and pointed overhead, 
Where darkly as a pall outspread, 
I saw a cloud appear. 



a 



'Tis as I said ; why ask my lot ? 

It is already told." 
She answered not, but silently 
Still pointed upward to the sky : 
I saw the cloud, slow sailing by, 

A glorious star unfold. 

She looked into my face and smiled, — 

She gently kissed my hand, 
Then turned away — but long I stood 
And strove in earnest, sober mood, 
My fate to understand. 

I leave it to a wiser Power 

And to a higher might ; 
Content if treacherous ways among, 
He will protect me from the wrong 

And lead me to the right. 



THE SPIRIT OF POESY. 93 



THE SPIRIT OF POESY. 

As the dew-drop to the rose, 

As the sunbeam on the sea, 
As the stars unto the night, 
Shining with a cheering light, 

Art thou to me, 

Blessed Spirit of Poesy ! 
Full of light and full of gladness, 

Full of sweet serenity, 
Lighting up the mists of sadness 

Till they melt themselves and flee, — 
As the storm-clouds darkly rolled. 
At the sunbeam's sudden ray 

Brightly smiling, float away 
In shapes and colors manifold. 

What art thou ? Not a fleeting dream, 
A passing phantasy of youth — 

For seen alike in smiles or tears, 

To me thine every aspect wears 
The fadeless light of truth. 

Seeming-deathless joys there be 

That blossom like the summer flowers- 
Blossom for a few brief hours, 



94 THE SPIEIT OF POESY. 

Soon to perish utterly ; 

But thou — I have no fear for thee — 

So beautiful, so bright thou art, 
So full of sweet divinity, 

Death in thee can have no part ■ 
Thyself art immortality. 

At times thou comest unto me 

In the semblance of a fairy, 

Borne on pinions light and airy — 
Pinions as the breezes free ; 

And I follow as I may, 
As with light Psychean grace 
Through illimitable space 

Thou tak'st thy pathless way. 
Thou leadest me to lonely woods 

And to the sea-girt strand, 
Where all throughout the lonely night, 
The plunging waters, hoarse and white, 

Beat on the ribbed sand, — 
And the ships go sailing by, 

Sailing on the shadowy sea 
Like the pale stars in the sky, 

Silently — silently : 
Or to fairy-haunted rills 

Welling forth for ever more 



THE SPIRIT OF POESY. 95 

From the lonely hearts of silent hills, 

'Mid fluted shell and sparry ore ; — 
Or where, in some deserted isle 
Standeth an old Cathedral pile, 

'Neath whose matted ivy screen 
Peer from corners dusk and dim 
Carved forms and faces grim, 
With feathery fern and lichens hoar 
And richest mosses mantled o'er — 

Richest moss of rarest green : 
And then it is a joy to me 

'Mid these ruins lone and hoary 
Thus to stray with thee — 

Listing to some ghostly story 
Of the wondrous olden time, 

Or some wild and monkish legend 
Weaving into rhyme. 

Thy joyousness is like the glow 

Of the sunbeam on the sea, 
As they sparkle to and fro, 

Laughingly — laughingly. 
But beneath, in caverns deep, 
Calm and still the waters sleep, — 
Far too mighty and profound 
For flashing light or rippling sound ; 

Thus thou liest calm for ever — 



96 THE SPIRIT OF POESY. 

Silent in a deep emotion, 
Hushed into a still devotion, 

While thou seemest changing ever. 
Thou mak'st my life so beautiful 

That I can bear to be alone : 
Thou singest ever a holy song, 

Where lies no secret moan, 

Save joy's half-plaintive undertone, 
And never dies that song away, 

But evermore it comes to me 

With a low-voiced melody, 
Singing ever, night and day ; 
As the sparkling waters run 

Through shady wood and sunny valley ,- 
Singing in a quiet tone, 

Singing ever musically 
Down unto the mighty sea 

Where the sounding billows pour, 

Echoing on the lonely shore ; — 
Thus thou singest unto me 

Evermore ! 

I may not tell the fancies wild 

That whisper to my heart, 
When oft amid its solitude 
Musing in half-inspired mood 

I question what thou art. 



THE SPIRIT OF POESY. 97 

At times thou seemest unto me 

A part of mine own being, 
Its life, its immortality, 

That deathless and far-seeing 
Readiest through the bounds of time 
From the Past's forgotten clime 

Into far eternity ; 
A guardian spirit by my side, 

An exile from a purer clime, 
With whom the melodies abide 

Of some sweet Eden-time, 
Whose echoes to the Past belong— 
Tuning life's discord into song ; 
And seeming as they wander by 
A strange unbidden memory 
Of something heard, of something seen, 

Of something felt — I know not where — 
A love that shall be, or hath been, 

In a more heavenly atmosphere. 
Thou art a mystery — a thing 

To shrine within my secret heart 
And love in silent wondering, 

Scarce knowing what thou art ; 
For in thy purity divine 
Thy life is too remote from mine 

To answer human questioning. 
5 



98 IDLBSSE. 

IDLESSE. 

I loye from noon till eventide 

Thus languidly to lie, 
Gazing upon the happy earth 

And on the happy sky. 

The breeze into mywindow bears 
A breath of summer bloom, 

And fairy sun-beams softly glide 
Athwart the quiet room. 

They glimmer on the chequered wall, 
They tremble on the floor, — 

Like golden waves on silver sand, 
By light winds rippled o'er. 

There is no shadow on the skies, 
No shadow on my brow ; 

The earth is full of happiness, 
And I am happy now. 

I ponder with a still delight 

Some poet's witching rhyme ; — 

I read about the Golden Age, 
And of the Eden-Time. 



WEARINESS. 99 

And softly as the sunset hues 

Upon a crystal stream, 
A heavenly beauty steals upon 

The spirit of my dream. 

Sweet as the dewy breath that in 

A rose's heart doth dwell, — 
Uncertain as the dreamy tone 

Within a pearly shell. 

And here some hand hath lightly traced 

On the familiar page, 
" Love is the spirit's Eden-time, 

And youth the Golden Age !" 



WEARINESS. 

Ah, that my soul could melt itself away 

Into its own ideal, 
Or that its fair creations might become 

The living real ! 



100 WEARINESS. 

With dreams of loveliness it is oppressed — 

Beauty too finely wrought ; 
And into utter weariness sinks down, 

O'erburthened with its thought. 

Thought that goes dreaming through the wintry 
night, 

And through the summer day, 
With never words to give its meaning forth — 

With never work nor play. 

But little profit is this outer life — 

It seems not life to me, 
So slowly drag the weary days along, — 

So slow and silently. 

I stand alone beside the Sea of Life, 

Upon the desolate shore ; 
I hear the mellow music of its chimes, 

I hear its troubled roar. 

I long to mingle in that eager strife, 

Or in that careless play ; 
To breast the bounding billows' angry strength 

Or yield me to their sway. 



WEARINESS. 101 

Beside that Sea, upon that lonely shore, 
A glimmering twilight gleams, • 

And shadowy shapes move ever to and fro, 
Like e'er returning dreams. 

I call to them — they slowly pass me by 

With faint and cold replies ; 
I find no loving on their icy lips, 

No cheering in their eyes. 

And all night long my troubled spirit wakes 

And wanders far away, 
Where wailing winds make melancholy moan 

Amid the pine-tops gray ; 

Where mournfully the sullen shadows sleep 

In some enchanted grove, 
Or floats the liquid moonlight to and fro 

As the trembling branches move. 

And images of terror fill my brain 

More desolate than these, 
Of lurid gleams of light that stream afar 

O'er frozen polar seas ; 



102 WEAEIXESS. 

And of some vessel with its ghastly crew, 

Locked in with icy bars, 
Where only soars the lonely Albatross 

Above the crumbling spars. 

I strive in vain to cast the weight aside 

That broods upon my breast ; 
And ceaselessly my troubled spirit yearns 

For quietude and rest. 

Not death — the cold, the voiceless, and the stern- 

Not this my soul doth crave ; 
I turn in deeper sadness from the cold 

Dim quiet of the grave. 

But life, that flows in rapture through the heart, 

That thrills in every vein — 
That findeth pleasure hi its own excess 

Of human joy and pain. 

Ah, that my soul could melt itself away 

Into its own ideal ; 
Or that its fair creations might become 

The living real ! 



ESTDYMION. 103 



ENDYMION. 

I started from a troubled dream, 
The fancy of a summer night, 

As through my open window shone 
A broad and silver light. 

It was the placid orb of night, 
It was the slow uprising moon, 

Now waxing with a queenly grace 
Unto her highest noon. 

She looked so gently on my face, 
She seemed so full of sympathy ; 

It was her kiss upon my brow 
Had thus awakened me. 

And slowly crept her silver beam 
Upon my brow, across my breast ; 

I almost felt her fingers cold 
Upon my forehead pressed ; 

I almost deemed her chilly touch 
Had rippled o'er my loosened hair, 

As on the sultry summer night 
Came in the balmy air. 



104 ENDYMIOIST. 

And musing, to myself I said, 

As fair the silver crescent shone,— 

" Twas thus, on such a summer night, 
She woke Endymion." 



I loved her for her queenly pride, 
I loved her for her modest grace, 

And that so tenderly she seemed 
To gaze upon my face. 

I watched her as she higher rose, 
And till her silver disk was gone, 

And turning on my pillow, dreamed 
Of young Endymion. 



And never till that summer night, 
While dreaming thus, so fancy-free, 

Had that poetic legend seemed 
So beautiful to me. 



I saw the young Endymion 
Asleep upon the mountain laid, 

While o'er his snowy cheek and brow 
The clustering ringlets strayed. 



ENDYMIOK. 105 

I saw the beauteous goddess stand 
Half shrinking, by the sleeper's side, 

And all subdued, as only love 
Could tame her maiden pride. 

So timid-proud she seemed to be, 

So bashful in her queenly grace, 
I felt my own cheek blush and burn 

While gazing on her face. 

I saw her forward slowly bend — 

I trembled for the goddess' sake, 
Lest, roused by some magnetic thrill, 

The sleeper should awake. 

I saw her touch the marble brow, 

I saw her press the parted lips — 
And starting, from my dream I woke, 

As in the moon's eclipse. 

Yet met I as a meteor's flash, 

The large eyes of the wondering boy, 

Illumed as with a sudden bliss, 
A rapture-thrill of joy. 

And musing, to myself I said, 

As slowly flushed the rosy dawn, 
" There is no sweeter dream than that 

Of young Endymion !" 



106 THE LOVED AND LOST. 

THE LOVED AND LOST. 

They have gone, they have gone from the homes of 
earth, 

And our hearts are lonely now, 
For we miss the joy of the tender eyes, 

And the light of the sunny brow ; 
Only in dreams of the silent night, 

Only in visions vain, 
May the shadowy forms of the loved and lost 

Come back to our hearts again. 

We gaze once more on the pale sad brow, 

We dream that we hear them speak, — 
We thrill at the glance of the loving eye 

And the touch of the glowing cheek ; 
We wake from the joy of that blissful dream 

To a life whose light is o'er, — 
Our yearning spirits are lonely still, 

And the loved are the lost once more. 

Yet we know, we know they are happy now, 

In their dwelling far away, 
And that though we pine in a starless night, 

That theirs is a cloudless day, 



PAST AND PRESENT. 107 

We walk in dreams of a happier land 

O'er a far and shadowy main, 
Where the yearning heart is for ever stilled 

And the lost are found again. 



PAST AND PRESENT. 

Ah, the many haunting memories of the dreamy 
summer time, 

Thrilling like the broken snatches of some half-for- 
gotten rhyme, — 

As the golden-winged hours lapse so languidly 

along, 
In the luxury of beauty, in the melody of song. 

Memories that weave about us shifting webs of 

changeful thought — 
Silver gleams and golden tissues, in a fairy fabric 

wrought 



108 PAST AJSD PRESENT. 

Silver gleams of real feeling, golden threads by 

fancy spun, 
In the loom of thought entwining, blent and woven 

into one. 

When there comes a blessed respite from all present 

care and pain, 
And the trusting love of childhood dawneth on the 

heart again ; 

And forgetful of the present, turn our eager spirits 

back, 
Tracing o'er the tiny footsteps in the grassy little 

track ; 

Reading o'er life's earliest pages, — where existence, 

newly blown, 
Seems a fairy tale whose moral, even yet, is all 

unknown. 

When the flowers and the streamlets seemed with 

human love endued, 
And the winds were angels singing in the woodland 

solitude ; 

When amid that land enchanted, 'mid the winds' 
and waters' play, 

Lazily we lay and listened all throughout the sum- 
mer day ; 



PAST AND PRESENT. 109 

Musing, as the airy shadows blent and mingled 

overhead, 
And the liquid lustres quivered o'er the streamlet's 

pebbly bed : 

Laughing as the playful ripples dimpled o'er our 

pearly feet ; 
Drowsy w^ith a sense of beauty — idle fancies, vague 

and sweet. 

Or with strange and sudden longings startled to a 
newer life — 

Stirring of the spirit's power, — waking of the tem- 
pest strife. 

Ah, we smile to read again those fairy legends of 

the Past, 
Knowing not that even now their magic spell is 

o'er us cast. 

But I would not now recall them, and I may not 

thus repine, 
For I feel that higher pleasure and a nobler life is 

mine. 

For to me a world is given, never seen by child- 
hood's eyes, 

Where the beauty never waneth, where the music 
never dies : 



110 PAST AND PKESENT. 

Where are thoughts, like angel presence, hymning 

through the sabbath hours, 
And affection deeper, holier, than was given to stars 

and flowers. 

And I wander far and freely 'mid the realms of ages 

flown, 
Reaping from their garnered treasures harvests that 

the dead have sown. 

Musing in the sacred precincts of their temples' 
ruined halls — 

Gleaning Amaranthine flowers from their Babylo- 
nian walls. 

Or when weary of the Present, turning ever, hushed, 

elate, 
Thrilling with expectant wonder, to the Future's 

golden gate. 

Hearing from its hidden caverns Sybil-tones of 

destiny — 
Vague prophetic revelations of the blessing yet to be. 

"With a faith serene and trustful, follow I that on- 
ward way, 

Fearless of the Ghouls of evil that would lure my 
steps astray, 



CON ELGIN. Ill 

Heedless of their guileful voices, scarcely heard or 
understood : 

Trusting in the holier power — waiting for the com- 
ing good. 

For it seemeth in the distance, slowly, slowly draw- 
ing nigh — 

As the eastern stars advancing when the western 
day doth die. 

Oh, as thus Death's silent shadows gather o'er 

Life's closing day, 
May the soul's immortal glory cheer it on its lonely 

way! 



CON ELGIN. 

Con Elgin was a Norseman bold, 

A chief of high degree, 
And he hath gone with all his men 

A-sailing on the sea. 
Now woe the hour, and woe the strand, 
Shall see those savage Norsemen land, — 

Wherever that mav be ! 



112 COX ELGIN. 

Con Elgin sought the stormy isle 

Across the foamy flood, 
And marched with all his followers 

Into the Druid wood, 
Where, 'neath the dark majestic oaks, 

The Christian temple stood. 

Con Elgin slew the old Culdee, 
The priest with silver hair ; 

He slew him at the altar stone, 
In sacerdotal gear ; 

He slew the half-baptized babe, 
And its mother, young and fair. 

He seized the sacramental cup 

The blessed wine to drain, 
He mixed it with the Christian's blood, 

And quaffed it yet again. 
Then, while his eyes in fury roll, 

His beard he cleanses in the bowl, — 
But there is on his blackened soul 

An everlasting stain. 

Con Elgin lies in troubled sleep 

Beneath a Druid oak ; 
Was it the whisper of the wind, 

Or a voice to him that spoke ? 



COX ELGIX. 113 

" Oh hard of heart, and fierce of hand, 

I sign thee with a sign ; 
Where'er thou goest, on land or flood, 
O'er icy plain or darksome wood, 
Shall loneliness about thee brood, 

And Death in Life be thine !" 

Uprose the bloody Norseman then, 

And loudly laughed he ; 
"I bear the spell, and wear the sign, 

Thou old and weird Culdee! 
Now, by the shades of Odin's hall, 
That such an ill should me befall, 

That such a curse should be !" 

And loudly laughed his followers, 

As round about they stood ; — 
But a sudden thrill and a whisper ran 

Through the ancient Druid wood, 
And paled the reckless Valkyrmen 

As round about they stood. 

But they are on the sea again, 

And far and fast they go : — 
For lo ! the storm is on their track, 
The waves are white, the clouds are black, 

And the icy breezes blow. 



114 CON ELGIN. 

Oh, that the storm would wear away, 
And the winds would cease to blow ! 

But darker grows the fearful night, 

The winds the louder shriek; 
They cannot see each other's forms, 

Nor hear each other speak. 
But though the waves the wilder grow, 
And though the winds the fiercer blow, 
Still onward, steadily and slow, 

The fated vessel glides ; 
They know that some unearthly hand 

Her course securely guides. 

A sudden lull— and in the south 

There dawns a misty day ; 
There is no cloud, there is no breeze, 
But far away o'er frozen seas 

The Boreales play — 
A ghastly ray, like that which lies 
Within the dying's glazing eyes. 

There is no life in all the scene, 
There is no breath, no sound : 
But slowly o'er the glassy deep 
The icy bars in silence creep, 



CON ELGIN. 115 

And clasp the ship around, — 
Till motionless she lies, like Life 
By Death encompassed round. 

Gloom on the gray unbroken sky, 

And stillness in the air, 
And loneliness upon the sea, 

And silence everywhere ; 
And in Con Elgin's troubled breast 
A nameless dread, a vague unrest, 

A dull and cold despair. 

He turned him from the silent crew — 

So gaunt were they, and grim; 
He gazed where sea and sky between, 
In lurid haze was ever seen 

The sun's unsetting rim. 
But still their cold and stony eyes 

Glared fixedly on him. 

He spake to them — he called to them — 

Then came a silence dread : 
For lo ! upon the northern skies 
Strange shapes of lurid light arise, 

And gather overhead : 
They gleam upon the frozen ship, 

And on the frozen dead ! 



116 CON ELGIN. 

The faces of the dead were they — 

So livid, wan, and blue ; 
Oh, 'twas a fearful thing to stand 

Amid that ghastly crew ! 
And thrice Con Elgin drew his blade, 
And thrice his desperate hand was stayed ; 
What deadly fear his soul dismayed ? 

What horror thrilled him through ? 

He paces o'er the frozen deck, 

He chants a mystic rune ; 
He cursed the long and dreary day, 

Yet ended all too soon, 
As the lurid disk of the blood-red sun 

Sinks suddenly at noon. 

Alone upon that frozen sea, 

Beneath those lurid skies — 
Alone, while plays the ghastly light 

Within the dead men's eyes ; 
Oh, that some little breeze would stir, 

Some little cloud arise ! 

And then uprose a little cloud, 

Uprose a little breeze, 
And came a low and murmuring sound 
Like moaning waves that break around 

The misty Hebrides. 



CON ELGIN. 117 

The ice is rent, the ship is free, 
And on the open seas ! 

Con Elgin walks the silent deck 

Amid the dead alone, 
And down upon their lifeless forms 

The living sunlight shone ; 
But o'er his soul is darkly shed 
The horror of a nameless dread ; — 
" Oh, better be as they," he said, 

" Than thus to be alone !" 

And still the vessel driveth on 

For ever, night and day ; 
Through sun and shade, through storm and 
calm, 

She keepeth still her way ; 
And still Con Elgin there doth stand, 
And still he watcheth for the land 

Through storm and vapor dim ; 
And still, beneath whatever skies, 
He sees the dead men's stony eyes 

Glare fixedly on him. 

The land ! the land ! new life revives 
His palsied heart and brain — 



118 COX ELGIX. 

He strives to win the nearing shore, 

But strength and skill are vain ; 
With stony eye and bloodless lip 
He sees it backward slowly slip, 
As onward glides the fated ship 
Unto the outer main. 

A sail ! a sail ! and o'er the waves 

It glideth onward fast, 
And conies the sailors' cheering cry 

Upon the rushing blast. 
Their very life-blood chilled with dread- 
They saw the living and the dead 

As swift they hurried past ! 

And long upon those Northern seas 

At silent dead of night, 
Was heard a wild and frenzied cry, 
As the phantom-ship went hurrying by- 

A strange and fearful sio*ht ! 
And well the awe-struck sailors knew 
Con Elgin and his ghastly crew. 



THE DYIXG YEAH. 119 



THE DYING YEAR. 

Haek ! on the solemn night 

How the funeral winds are sighing ! 
Breathing a requiem sad and low, 

For the gray old year is dying. 
Darkness hath spread his rmll, 

And Time his flight seems staying ; 
Ye may hear his muffled footsteps fall 

Through the silent chamber straying. 

Hush ! 'tis a fearful time, 

And the hour is dread and holy, 
As we count his failing pulses chime 

How slowly, oh, how slowly ! 
And the winds sad dirges wail 

Through the lonely forests sighing : 
Oh, kneel, and pray for his parting soul, 

For the gray old year is dying ! 

Well may thy heart be sad 

Well may thine eyes be weeping ; 

For many a hope and joy of thine 
Hath he in silent keeping. 

They pass with the dying year, 



120 THE COMMON WAY. 

And their light knows no returning, 
And thy soul shall mourn for the fleeting ray 
That passed as a meteor's burning. 

Come near — come bow thee down, 
In the dust all humbly kneeling : 

Hark ! heard ye not that solemn chime ? 

'Tis the death-knell for him pealing ! 

Would'st thou call the dying back ? 
Alas, for the vain endeavor ; 

Eleven — twelve ! it is over now ; 
He is dead — he is gone for ever ! 



THE COMMON WAY, 

Oh, eager heart, impatient mind, 
Toiling along the Common Way, — 

How recklessly ye hurry on, 
How listlessly delay ! 

Now, eager for the promised goal, 
Ye onward press, with hasty feet ; 

Now pause and faint beside the way 
Beneath the noon-day heat. 



THE COMMON WAY. 121 

The road is paved for common use — 

No curve relieves the vista long : 
"Why need we tread the beaten track ? 

Why follow with the throng ? 

Repressing still our eager haste 

To measured stages, dull and slow; 

Impatient of the timid throng 
As tardily they go. 

Oh, let us leave the narrow track — 

Oh, let us fearless turn aside, 
And boldly seek a loftier path, 

With Truth alone for guide. 

Oh, let us own a nobler creed 

Than worldly wisdom's selfish rule ; 

And turn to Nature's living founts 
From Custom's stagnant pool. 

The hearts that beat so warmly now, — 
Oh, shall we make them stern and cold ? 

And measure truth by worldly gain, 
And barter love for gold ? 

And check the spirit's strength divine, 
And bind it down to worldly sway ? 

And force it from its upward flight 
Into the Common Way ? 

6 



122 AIJEtLEY. 

Oh, let us seek a purer faith, 
Oh, let us own a nobler creed, 

Nor follow e'er the narrow track 
Where worldly spirits lead. 

On God alone our souls rely ; 

Our hearts are true, our spirits strong, 
And He will lead us to the right, 

Protect us from the wrong ! 



AIRLEY. 

Oh, greenly grow the alder boughs 

Upon the banks of Airley, 
And on the silver river's breast 

The lilies blossom fairly ; 
With blithesome echoes, far and near, 

The sylvan shades are ringing, 
And gaily in the hazel copse 

The merle and mavis singing. 

But Airley towers are lonely now, 
And Airley halls are dreary, — 

And though the sun be bright without, 
The hearts within are weary ; 



AIRLEY. 123 

For she that was the light of all, 

The chieftain's lovely daughter, 
Hath fled away with Roden's knight 

Across the stormy water. 

He met ber in the shady wood, 

He wooed her by the river ; 
He swore by all the shining stars 

To love but her for ever. 
And first she smiled, and then she wept — 

Her heart was troubled sairly ; 
She gazed upon her lover's face, 

And then she looked on Airley. 

Her brow beneath the moonbeams pale 

Was beautiful and holy, 
As on her ear his accents fell 

So tenderly and lowly : 
She could but list the honeyed words, 

She could but love him dearly ; 
She stepped into his bonny boat 

And fled away from Airley. 

Her cheek was like a summer rose, 
Her smile like summer weather — 

Her fairy footstep left the dew 
Upon the purple heather : 



124 UNREST. 

Oh, where shall we another find 
Whose beauty blooms so rarely ? 

>Tis morning now on Roden's halls, 
And midnight upon Airley. 

Yet dwelleth she, a happy bride, 

Beyond the Roden water, 
And singeth to her father's foe 

The songs her mother taught her. 
Oh, we shall mourn her many a day, 

Oh, we shall miss her sairly ; — 
Yet happy is the Roden chief 

To win the pride of Airley. 



UNREST. 

Last night I wandered out alone, 

As rose the moon in half-eclipse ; 
I cared not whither led my feet, — 
I strayed adown the lonely street 
And stood amid the silent ships. 



UNREST. 125 

As dark and still they seemed to lie 
As giants wrapped in heavy rest ; 

I watched them with a vague desire, 

Those wanderers on the ocean's breast, — 

And wished that I too were as free 

To roam upon the boundless sea. 



The breeze was cool upon my brow, 

The waves were dashing at my feet : 
I watched them as they rose and fell, 
I felt my heart as wildly swell, 

I felt my pulse as wildly beat : 
And gazing up in heaven's face, 

I saw the stars from east to west 
Go rolling onward ceaselessly, 

As knowing not of rest. 
Oh, winds, and waves, and stars, are free ; 
And all are moving on but me ! 

To-day I count the moments pass, 

As idly in my room I sit ; 
I watch the red leaves rustling fall 
From the old vine upon the wall, 
And on the weedy garden walk 

The sluggish shadows flit. 



126 SIR LAUNCELOT. 

I see upon the autumn sky 

The idle vapors rolling slow, 
A ruined tower loom above, 

A stagnant moat below. 
Oh, all things wane to slow decay- 
Must I, too, rest and die as they ? 



SIR LAUNCELOT. 

Arise, arise, Sir Launcelot — 

Such prayer availeth not with me; 
I yield not to the suppliant sigh, 

I scorn the bended knee. 
To fairer dames, more lightly won, 

Thus lowly kneel, and humbly sue ; — 
Humility wins not the heart 

That pride could not subdue. 

I doubt thee not, Sir Launcelot, 

It is thy heart which speaketh now; 

I might distrust the honeyed tongue, 
But truth is on thy brow. 



SIR LAUNCELOT. 127 

And if I smile upon thy suit, 

Some cause of smiling it may be 
That one who sought my pride to bow, 

Hath bowed his own to me. 

I saw thee, gay Sir Launcelot, 

The noblest in the festive scene — 
Thine was the fairest brow of all, 

And thine the stateliest mien ; 
Rejoicing in thy high estate, 

Thy noble blood, thy lineage old — 
The heir of an unsullied name, 

And of uncounted gold. 

With cunning art, Sir Launcelot, 

You sought unto the world to prove 
The power of your manly grace, 

The strength of woman's love. 
You lingered by me in the throng, 

You sought me in the mazy dance, 
And triumphed in the conscious blush 

That woke beneath your glance. 

Thou didst not know^, Sir Launcelot, 
"When stooping from thy haughty pride, 

That mine own soul between us placed 
A barrier strong and wide : 



128 SIR LANCELOT. 

The high nobility of soul 

Whose trust is in itself alone, 

The pride that will not stoop to ill — 
These, these, were not thine own. 

I loved thee not, Sir Launcelot, 

Whatever flattering tongues might say 
Thou ownest not the magic power 

To bind me to thy sway. 
I loved alone the graceful mien, 

The haughty eye, the raven hair, 
As I might love a pictured form, — 

Missing the spirit there. 

I know that many a titled dame 

To win thee doth in secret sigh — 
That many a fairer hand than mine 

Thy boasted gold may buy ; 
But I, who own no princely wealth, 

Who come of no immortal line, 
Possess a soul too proud to stoop 

To such a pride as thine. 



CLOUD-LAND. 129 



CLOUD-LAND. 

A flushing of crimson light 

In the heavens clear and blue — 
A veil of clouds o'er the setting sun, 

And a glory shining through ! 
And afar is a sapphire sea 

Into foam-wreaths lightly curled, 
And a galley borne on the rippling tide 

With its snowy sails unfurled : 
A glitter of golden waves 

As they flash to the glancing oars, 
And a trembling swell where the ripples break 

On the blue and distant shores. 
Oh, for the might of a spirit's wing ! 

Oh, for a power to flee 
And float in a trance of poesy 

O'er that calm transparent sea. 

Away, by the purple isles, 

Where the spirit of twilight broods, 
And afar where the night comes darkly down 

On the distant solitudes. 
But the golden shores are fading now, 

And the sea is still and lone, 

5* 



130 CLOUD-LAND. 

And a voice seems thrilling the breathless air — 

A low and wailing tone. 
Darkness in heaven above, 

Darkness on earth beneath, 
And the cloud-built realm is desolate 

As the lonely Sea of Death. 

The lonely Sea of Death — 

How dark and still it lies — 
A shadow upon the darkened earth, 

A shadow on the skies ! 
And lo ! where over the sullen waves 

Strange airy phantoms glide, 
Dread shapes of gloom and mystery 

Upon that dreary tide. 
Fade ! for upon my soul 

A trembling awe ye shed, 
And your shrouded figures darkly glide 

Like memories of the dead ! 

Fade, airy visions — fade, 

Ye phantoms of the skies ; 
Yet ever in my haunted soul 

A deeper Cloud-land lies. 
A realm of shadowy thought, 

A fair, yet changeful scene, 



THE SYRENS. 131 



With glimpses of unearthly light, 
And shadows dark between : 

Where stormy clouds have been, 
Alas ! that linger yet, 

And in the far remoter skies 

Sweet angel hopes, like stars arise, 
Like stars forever set ! 



THE SYRENS. 

Hither — oh, hither ! 
Wanderer on the dreary ocean, 
Weary of its wild commotion, 
Hither flee — 
Here are rest and peace for thee ! 
Ere the day grow dim and the night grow dark, 
Oh, hither speed your lonely barque, — 

Hither — hither ! 
No storms disturb our peaceful isle, 

No tempests rock our happy shore ; 
All in calm repose doth smile, 
All is rest forevermore — 
Evermore ! 



132 THE SYRENS. 

Hark s the waves on the echoing shore 
Murmur as they softly pour, 
" Evermore — evermore ! 
Peace and rest forevermore !" 



Hither — hither ! 
Wherefore toil on the stormy main ? 

Wherefore trust to the treacherous sea ? 
Spare your labor, spare your pain — 

Come and rest ye, e'en as we ! 

All things rest, and why not ye ? 
All from life hath gladness won, — 
Why should care be thine alone ? 
Lo ! see ye not how the playful waves 

Come laughing up from the restless sea, 

Chasing each in their careless glee, 
Merrily — merrily ! 
And the halcyons swing with their snowy breasts, 
Up and down on the billows' crests, 
That come and go, 
To and fro, 

Softly, dreamily, and slow, 
Murmuring in quiet measure 
Lowly tones of drowsy pleasure ; 
'Till all happy things that glide 
Underneath the emerald tide, 



THE SYEEXS. 133 

Linger, and with wistful eye 
Glance them upward silently — 

Silently ; 
Swaying, as they idly lie, 

To and fro, 

Soft and slow, 
To the sea's wild melody. 

Hither — hither ! 
Would ye revel in beauty's light, 

Come where beauty forever smiles ; 
Would ye feast upon life's delight, 

Haste, oh haste to our happy isles ! 
Here, amid wealth of fragrant flowers 

Deep in the cooling shade we he ; 
Here we rest, while the charmed hours 

Float in their languid beauty by — 

Over us float as we dreaming lie, 
Lazily — lazily ! 
And we upward reach where the clusters swell 

Rich and rare in the ripening sun, 

And we daintily pluck them, one by one, 
And press their juice in a pearly shell ; 

And our love-lit eyes more brightly shine 

As we bathe our lips in the ruby wine ; 
While over our shoulders white and bare, 



134 THE SYRENS. 

O'er blushing cheek and forehead fair, 
Falleth a wealth of golden hair — 
Waving down, softly down, 
From under the perfumed myrtle-crown, 
And the Spirit of Life, as the wine we sip, 
Flushes in heart, and cheek, and lip, 
Warming and thrilling us through and through ; 
And the love and the beauty are all for you — 
All for you ! 
Hither — hither ! 
Spread your sails to the wooing winds, 

Speed your barque to our happy shore, 
Where love and joy in a circle binds 
The charmed hours for evermore, — 
Evermore ! 
Hark ! the waves on the echoing shore 
Murmur still as they softly pour, 
" Evermore — evermore ! 
Love and joy for evermore !" 



THE NUN. 135 



THE NUN. 

Faint breathings of the summer bloom 

Melt softly on the balmy air, 
Where 'mid the gorgeous flowers she stands, 

So like a lily, pale and fair. 
On grassy bank and bowered walk 

The broken moonlight flickering falls, 
And broader shadows veil the space 
Where drooping branches interlace 

Beneath the mossy Convent-walls. 
From woods and meadows far remote, 

A mystic, tinkling murmur swells, 
That dies upon the fainting air 
Like lovers' lowly- whispered prayer, 

Or chime of fairy marriage-bells. 
She sinks upon the mossy bank, 

She veils her in the myrtle's gloom ; 
" Oh Holy Mother, pardon me 

The thoughts that thus unbidden come !" 

The moonlight and the faint perfume, 
The dream-like echoes, vaguely heard — 

All senses, speaking to the soul, 

Have loosed it to its own control, 
And nature's sealed fountains stirred. 



136 THE NUN. 

She trembles in the silent gloom — 

Alone, she seemeth not alone ; 
A mystic presence hovers near, 
A tender voice breathes in her ear, 

And earnest eyes gaze in her own. 
Her woman's yearning heart is lost 

In one full tide of tenderness ; 
She trembles with the depth of joy, 

She paleth with her fear's excess. 
" Oh, that the sin may be forgiven ! 

Oh, Holy Virgin, help my need, — 
That I, the plighted bride of heaven, 

May from these earthly thoughts be freed !" 

"Within the dim and narrow cell 

The wintry moonlight as it falls, 
Grows colder on the stony floor 

And darker on the sombre walls. 
And o'er the floor and on the walls 

Stretch shadows from the iron bars, 
That cross the casement's glimmering square 
In rigid outlines, sharp and bare, 

And blot the chilly stars. 
Without, the sloping shadows lie 

All blackening o'er the drifted snow, 
While here and there a slender gleam 



THE NUN. 137 

Uncertain seems to come and go, 

As wave the poplars to and fro ; 
And overhead the towers loom, 

And massive walls obscure the sky, 
Save where across a narrow space 

The stars go slowly by. 
" Oh, Holy Mary, pray for me ! 

Oh, God!" she faintly rnaketh moan, 
" I should be happy where Thou art — 

"Why feel I thus alone — alone ?" 

The shadows lengthen, and the light 

Grows lesser with the waning moon ; 
And not a sound is there to break 

The stillness of night's solemn noon, — 
Save echoes from the distant woods 

That answer to the owlet's cries ; 
And cold and blank as wintry snows 

The weight that on her spirit lies. 
She strives to still her troubled soul 

With musings of the love Divine, 
But mingled with each heavenward thought 

The earthly visions still entwine, 
She sees the fair and verdant plains, 

The western skies with splendor dyed, 
Where at the well amid the herds 

The Eastern patriarch met his bride. 



138 THE NUN. 

" 'Twas God that led his footsteps on, 
'Twas God that made their spirits one !" 
She sees in visions more divine, 

The bridal feast of Galilee, 

Where Christ disdained not to be : 
" And then, oh Mother meek and mild, 

A woman's yearning heart was thine : 
As thou hast known of love and grief, 

Forgive, forgive the sin of mine !" 

Slow breaking on the slumb'rous air 

The solemn chime of matin bells ! 
And far away the visions flee 

As slow the measured cadence swells. 
With hasty footsteps, light and low, 

She glides along the galleries dim, 
And sweetly 'neath the arching dome 

Is heard her plaintive morning-hymn ; 
And fainting on the chilly air 
Is breathed her lowly- whispered prayer. 
" Oh, Jesus, banish from my breast 

All other image than thine own : 
Oh, give my fainting spirit rest — 
Oh, let my heart be Thine alone !" 



GUY DE MATKE. 139 



GUY DE MAYNE. 

From the lofty niche within the wall, 
Here, in the dusky time-worn hall, 

Here, away in a foreign land, — 
Thou lookest downward, calm and grave, 
In corslet bright, and helm, and glaive, 

And a single gem on thy hand, 
And glancing up, by the firelight's flame, 

In ancient cyphers, dim with age, 

Such as cumber a missal's page, — 
Quaintly carved on the ebon frame, 
Slowly again I read thy name, — 
" Guy de Mayne." 

I know it not, nor who thou wert, — 
It is not told on tradition's page, — 

Nor yet thy lineage, or degree, 

Nor what thy history may be ; 

All alike are unknown to me, — 
Vanished things of another age. 

Yet while thy race hath seen decay, 

And their very name hath passed away, — 
For power is fleeting, and wealth is vain- 

Upon thy face I look to-day, 



140 GUT DE MATXE. 

Seeming here in the firelight's ray 
As in those ages passed away, — 
And musingly read o'er again, 
" Guy de Mayne? 

Methinks that never a warrior's soul 

Hath looked with a prouder gaze than thine ; 
That never a poet's brow hath worn 
So deep a sadness, so still a scorn, 

As from those eyes outshine : 
And thy brow is fair as the winter snow, 
Though the bearded face be bronzed below — 

Scarred and bronzed to a tawny stain, 
Telling, in record plain and true, 
Of many a toil thou hast passed through — 

Of storm and battle, of sun and rain ; 
For sure am I, by that corselet bright, 
And those haughty eyes' unclouded light, 
Thou wert no dainty carpet-knight, 
Guy de Mayne I 

I would that those silent lips might tell 

Of the deeds of daring thy hand hath done ;— 
That I might read in those earnest eyes 
Where now the spirit in stillness lies, 
How fierce the fury that in them shone 
"When thou wert rushing to battle on, 



GUY DE MAYXE. 141 

Waving on high the gleaming brand, — 
Saxon and Norman, hand to hand ! 
Methinks e'en I could danger dare, 

And forth to battle as fearless ride, 
Were I some dame of the olden time 

And thou a brother by my side, 
Gity de JSfayne ! 

And when thou did'st a-wooing go, 
I know the change upon that face — 
The softened mien, the knightly grace, 

The tender accents, breathing low. 

And did'st thou wed some lady fair, 
Or prove her falsehood's evil power ? 

Or fall in the flush of thy young renown, 
Or die in peaceful bower ? 

5 Tis fancy all, and idle thought, 

And well I know such dreams are vain ; 
Yet in my heart, and in my brain, 

Where many a waking dream is wrought, 

That warrior-mien and poet-glance 

Have woven a spell of strange romance ; 

And many an hour, as all alone 

I muse before the broad hearth-stone, 

I upward glance and start to see, 

That form of knightly chivalry : 



142 SUMMER NOON-DAY DREAM. 

Then turning, murmur with a sigh, 
" Oh for the glorious days gone by — 

The proud and stirring days of old, 
When knights were brave, and ladies fair, 
And hearts and hands were strong to dare, 

As in the olden records told : 
That they and thou could come again, 
G-uy de Mayne /" 



SUMMER NOON-DAY DREAM. 



The leaves are still, the breezes hushed, 

Or sing a drowsy number, 
And all throughout the silent day 

The golden hours slumber ; 
The ripples idly lapse along 

Beneath the noon-tide's gleaming : 
Oh, sure the drowsy summer-time 

Was made alone for dreaming. 



SUMMER NOON-DAY DREAM. 143 

Within my open window floats 

A slumbrous breath of roses, 
And in the softly-shaded room 

Silence itself reposes ; 
And liquid lustres on the wall 

Cool, rippling waves resemble, 
As to and fro, with motion slow, 

The leafy shadows tremble. 

A sense of silence and repose, 

Of slow and tranquil motion ; 
A murmur as of sleeping winds 

Upon a sleeping ocean ; 
And softly o'er my senses steals 

A luxury Elysian, 
And all delights of drowsy thought 

Are mingled in my vision. 

Oh, chiding voices, wake me not, 

Nor turn my rhyme to reason, — 
For life is mingled work and play, 

And each must have its season. 
The winter-time for study's toil, 

The Spring for pleasure's scheming, 
Autumn for the poet's thought, 

And Summer-time for dreaming ! 



144 ISOLA'S SOSTG IN THE TOWEE. 



ISOLA'S SONG IN THE TOWER. 



" It was midnight — the hour of the turning of the tide ; and 
as the Knight paced slowly beneath the tower, he heard a voice 
singing mournfully overhead." 

Afar, and afar, would my sad soul be, 
Afar, and afar, o'er the blue salt sea. 

Weary is the noontide, sad is the night ; 
Weary is the morn when the sun shines bright. 

Back flows the tide on the lone sea-shore, 
But the days that are past can return no more. 

Fair go the ships o'er the blue salt sea : 
Ne'er will the white sails come back to me. 

Wild shrieks the sea-gull, dark is the sky, 

And my soul grows faint as the wind sweeps by. 

Winds of the Norland ! would I were ye, 
To soar to the land where my love may be. 

Blessed is the shore that his voice hath known ; 
Blessed is the face that his smile shines on ; 



THE SYBIL. 145 

Blessed is the spot where his step hath trod, 
Blessed is the heart that can trust in God. 

And may God of his grace to my lost love be 
A shield and a guide o'er the blue salt sea. 



THE SYBIL. 

The firelight flickered faintly on the walls 
Of the dim cavern. In the fitful gleam 
The rough projections started boldly forth 
From the grey rocks, and sudden disappeared 
Like phantoms in the darkness. All around 
Swiftly and silently the shadows danced 
A fitful measure. Pendent from the roof 
The many-colored crystals darted forth 
A rainbow light ; and as some straggling ray 
Streamed forth into the darkness, back there shot 
A starry brightness, like the watchful eyes 
Of spirits lurking 'mid the distant gloom. 

She sat beside the embers, and the light 
Revealed the perfect beauty of her form, 

7 



146 THE SYBIL. 

Scarce veiled beneath the slight and gossamer stole 
Clasped on her ivory shoulder by the gem 
Of mystic opal-stone. Her face was young — 
Young, but intensely mournful. On her brow, 
Fair as the Parian stone, was stamped the spell 
Of intellect; and in her earnest eyes 
An inspiration gleamed ; as though the soul 
Rapt in a spell of voiceless ecstasy, 
Shone forth amid its brightness. Still she sat, 
And in her slender fingers grasped the pen 
Suspended o'er the mystic scroll that lay 
Unrolled upon her knee. 

She spoke at length ; 
And strangely sweet the thrilling tones arose 
Through the dim cavern, — earnest, soft, and clear, — 
Floating and falling with a silver sound. 

" Come to me, blessed spirits ! Lo ! my soul 
Hath cast aside the influence of earth, 
And stands serene in native purity 
Waiting your presence. Come, ye holy ones ! 
For I would question dim futurity, 
And read its mystic secrets. Come to me ! 
No stain of earth is on my spirit now, 
But calm and hushed into a still devotion 
And thoughts that elevate the soul from earth 



THE SYBIL. 147 

And earth's mortality, my soul awaits 

Your coming. Lo ! my spirit is athirst 

For knowledge, deeper knowledge ! I would read 

The hidden truths of this great universe, 

And wonders of creation ; would unseal 

The mystic book of Fate, where lie inscribed 

The things that are to be, and deeply pore 

Upon its sacred page. I cannot rest 

With this thick darkness weighing on my sight, — 

This mist of dull mortality, that veils 

The unknown glories of the spirit-world, 

The soul's own native home. Sweet spirits, come ! 

With your clear revelations, — like the dawn, 

The still-increasing dawn of morning light 

O'er a benighted world. 

" And lo ! ye come ! 
I feel your presence round me, by the spell 
Of inspiration o'er my spirit shed, — 
Solemn, and deep, and still ! As when a flood 
Of gorgeous radiance from some western cloud, 
Streams through the temple's stillness, lighting up 
Its altar into glory ; or when soft 
The passing of the wind-god's viewless wing 
Awakes the chords of a neglected lyre 
That long hath hung suspended in the dome 



148 THE SYBIL. 

Of some mysterious and deserted fane, 

To sweet and solemn music. Hark ! the strain 

Rises, and swells, and deepens, 'till my soul 

Thrills to its rapturous breathings with a sense 

Of most unearthly sweetness ! Oh, for power 

To cast aside this frail humanity, 

This clinging weight of clay, and soar afar 

In proud unfettered freedom, e'en as ye. 

Oh, high and glorious spirits ! Yea, I would 

That such a power were mine : my soul grows faint 

Beneath the burthen of its own deep thoughts, 

Its haunting dreams and visions ; — yearning e'er 

For something upon which it may pour forth 

Its fulness, and win back an answering tone 

Of deeper holiness. 

4 'Tis over now — 
The light hath fled, the presence all passed by, 
And on my fainting soul descends the weight 
Of solitude and silence. 'Tis in vain 
To seek to satisfy my woman's heart 
With high communion with immortal ones 
Whose mystic life is too remote from mine 
To mingle with it freely. Still I stand 
Apart from them, apart from earthly things ; 
Alone, alone — yea, utterly alone. 



THE SYBIL. 149 

" Oh, human heart, and oh, immortal soul ! 
That bound together by so frail a tie 
Still struggle each to gain your element, — 
How clings the one to tender human ties, 
How soars the other to empyrean heights 
Whence earthliness withholds it : — e'en as though 
The spirit of a timid dove were bound 
Within an eagle's breast. But yet, afar 
Through the dim vista of unnumbered year? 
I see the gathered clouds roll slowly back ; 
I hear a voice revealing of a time 
When all that was, and is, and is to be, 
Of love, and truth, and beauty, shall be given 
To satisfy these aspirations high, 
Which earth may never still. And in this faith 
I bear, I strive, I bow not to the dust ; — 
But stand serenely, with a soul elate 
To grasp the joy whose radiance when found, 
Shall cast a glory o'er it, — shutting out 
The gloom that hath been, and shall be no more !" 



150 THE MORNING VOYAGERS. 



THE MORNING VOYAGERS. 

Oh, be silent ! cease your dismal warning, 
Mournful voices, calling from the shore ! 

See ye not the rosy flush outdawning 

From the Eden-gates of golden morning ? 
Hear ye not the mirthful billows pour ? 

And the ripples, dimpling into laughter, 

And the breezes singing gaily after, 
Glad and free ? 

Chide me not, ye sad and warning voices ; 

Earth itself in morning mirth rejoices, 
And may not we ? 

Tell us not that morning hues are fleeting, 

Tell us not, its light must pass away ! 
Ah, better die with pulses swiftly beating, 
With hope and gladness, love and rapture meeting, 

Than wait their slow decay : 
Ah, better weary with the morning's pleasure 
Than hoard our strength to toil for earthly treasure 

Beneath the noon-tide ray. 
We care not for the Autumn's harvest-hours, 
So sweet the morning's breath, the April flowers ; 

We grasp them while we may. 



THE MORXIXG VOYAGERS. 151 

Our souls are gushing with their depth of gladness, 
Our hearts are burthened with their weight of love; 
Why seek to cloud our morning hours with sadness ? 
Why tell us of the " melancholy madness" 

The evening hours may prove ? 
Say, doth the earth withhold the bursting blossom, 

The flower itself its fragrant breath restrain ? 
Doth not the summer cloud unfold its bosom 
And pour its fulness on the budding grain ? 
Doth not the brook flow onward to the river — 

The river to the sea? 
Do earth or sky restrain their riches ever — 
And why should we ? 

We grasp what bliss the present hours may offer, 
Nor heed the future's labor and turmoil; 

Give us a little joy before we suffer, 
Give us a little rest before we toil. 

Ah, sweet to us the morning's golden hours — 

Ah, not to us its rosy hues are vain ; 

Then let us twine the tender April flowers 
Before the Autumn grain. 

Then trouble not our joy, ye warning voices, 
As down we glide unto the restless sea : 

The sea itself in light and life rejoices, 
And may not ice ? 



152 REVERIE. 

REVERIE. 

I am dreaming, idly dreaming 
'Neath the sweet autumnal sky ; 

Listless as the sunbeams gleaming 
On the leaves that round me lie. 

Many are the changeful fancies 
Floating through my soul along, — 

Memories of old romances, 
Snatches of forgotten song ; — 

Musings of the sober Real, 
Into fairer aspects wrought — 

Forms of the divine Ideal, 

Sculptured from the earthly thought. 

All together blent and glowing, 
As the tints upon the sky, — 

Mingled tides of feeling, flowing 
Into sweetest harmony, — 

With a murmur faint and thrilling 
As may breathe in starry beams ; 

All my senses sweetly stilling 
To a luxury of dreams. 



REVERIE. 153 

Thus forever, oh, forever, 

Could my restless fancies flow, — 
As the ripples on the river, 

Softly chiming as they go. 

With the beauty of all ages 

Moving in a march sublime ; 
From the wisdom of the sages 

To the poet's airy rhyme. 

Changing with a spell Chaldean — 
Classic forms and shapes grotesque ; 

Here, the beauty Cytherean, 
There, the fancies Arabesque. 

'Till enraptured with the vision 

Even life should brighter seem, 
And its joy become Elysian, 

And its sorrow but a dream ! 



7* 



154 HEEONDALE. 



HERONDALE. 

Lady Alice, at her window, watched the moon- 
beams gleaming pale, 

O'er the garden, o'er the river, o'er the woods of 
Herondale. 

And her stately lady-mother, bending o'er her 

daughter fair, 
Wrapped the ermine robe around her — loosed the 

jewels from her hair. 

Softly breathed the joyous music from the festal 

halls below : 
Lady Alice listened only to the river's murmuring 

flow. 

And she whispered, as around her fell the cold and 

pallid light, 
" Leave me, mother — I am weary : I would be alone 

to-night. 

" Let me sit beside the casement — let me sadly muse 

apart : 
Let the stillness of the midnight steal into my aching 

heart. 



herojstdale. 155 

" Let me feel that human passion is not all for which 

we live ; 
Life hath something more unchanging — God hath 

something more to give. 



" So my soul from out the shadow of its misery may 

awake ; 
So, perchance, a ray of cheering on my darkened 

future break." 



But her pallid cheek grew paler, and her spirit 

seemed to fail, 
As the river murmured lowly past the walls of 

Herondale. 



" Vain alas ! the weak endeavor ; who may bid the 

heart be still 
When a word, a breath, a motion, makes its broken 

chords to thrill ? 



"And I see, around, before me, old familiar objects 
rise, 

Linked for ever with the anguish of undving memo- 
ries. 



156 HERONDALE. 

"Holy stars and peaceful moonlight — and I hear 

the breezes call — 
And the river, slowly gliding down beneath the 

garden wall. 

"And I seem once more to stand with him. beneath 

the moonlight's glow — 
Hear again the tender accents mingling with the 

river's flow. 



" Never doubting, never fearing — loving with a per- 
fect love ; 

'Till it seemed that God were near us, as his holy 
heaven above. 



"There, beside the drooping willows, have we 

watched the waters glide, 
Knowing, feeling each to other dearer than the 

world beside ; — 

" Watched the clouds forever changing, silvered in 

the moon's eclipse, 
While our hearts were filled with music, but with 

silence on our lips : — 



HERONDALE. 157 

"Or together on the upland, slowly wandering, 

hand in' hand, 
Spoke of many things it seemed that we alone could 

understand." 

Came a sudden burst of music, floating on the sigh- 
ing gale : 

There are dancing feet and laughter in the halls of 
Herondale. 

" Wherefore on that deep affection did a shade, a 

doubt, intrude ? 
Oh, ye whispering tongues of evil, ye might answer 

if ye would. 

" Oh, ye cruel eyes, that watched to see the ruin ye 

had made — 
Knew ye not a thought of pity ? were your spirits 

not afraid ? 

" And ye timid hands, that stirred not to arrest the 

deadly blight, 
Though ye grieved above the evil — saw the wrong 

and knew the right. 

" Fiercer than the Druid's knife, or than the Indian's 

venomed dart, 
Is the tongue that whispers doubt unto a true and 

trusting heart. 



158 HERONDALE. 

" Women — maidens young and beauteous — ye can 
strike the fatal blow ; 

Ye can make a sister's anguish — ye can work a sis- 
ter's woe. 

" Oh my sisters, ere ye breathe a doubt against a 

spirit true, 
Pause before the words are spoken, for ye know not 

what ye do ; — 

" Know not that your faintest whisper, poisonous as 

the Upas' breath, 
Breathes upon an injured spirit anguish keener far 

than death ; 

'Till the heart's delicious Eden blasted in its beauty 

lies, 
And life's lone and barren desert spreads before the 

aching eyes, — 

"Where, through all life's weary journey, it must 

wander on alone, 
Banished from that blissful Eden, by a sin, oh, not 

its ownP 

Sadly moan the autumn breezes through the wil- 
lows in the vale, 

And the river murmurs lowly past the walls of He- 
rondale. 



HERONDALE. 159 

" But his doubt for ever deepened, and my woman's 

pride awoke : 
Haughty was my altered bearing, bitter were the 

words I spoke. 

"And I called him false as cruel — bade him seek 

another bride. 
Oh, that ere those words were spoken I had perished 

by his side ! 

" Still I see him stand before me, calm, and still, and 

deadly pale, 
With an anguish in his eyes that caused my very 

soul to fail, — 

" Fainting with the keen repentance, with a vague 

and sickening dread, 
At whose dark and sure foreboding hope and joy 

forever fled. 

" Had he but one moment lingered — had he but one 

word replied ; 
How could I, the wronged, recall him — stooping 

from my maiden pride ? 

11 So he left me : so he wandered to a far and foreign 

shore ; 
And I knew the past was over — knew that we should 

meet no more." 



160 HERONDALE. 

Slowly down the quiet heavens, lo! the moon is 

waning pale ; 
Darker shades of night are creeping slowly over 

Herondale. 

" Oh, the cold and heavy shadow, darkening o'er 

my altered way ! 
Oh, the deep and solemn midnight — oh, the dreary, 

dreary day ! 

" When, amid the silent watches, with the fever on 

my brain, 
I would startle from my slumber, dreaming he had 

come again, — 

"And awakening, feel the anguish fiercer at my 

bosom's core, — 
Hear a voice upon the stillness hoarsely whisper 

" Nevermore !" 

"When existence lay before me as a desert far out- 
spread, 

With the burning sands beneath me, and a burning 
sky o'erhead." 

Through the dreary autumn uplands mournfully the 
breezes wail ; 

And the river murmurs lowly by the walls of Heron- 
dale. 



HERONDAT/TC. 161 

" Slowly from that trance I wakened, with a faint 

and lonely heart : 
All the earth seemed changed about me ; I from all 

the earth apart. 

" Gazing on the glorious sunlight with a strange and 
sad surprise ; 

Wondering at the happy faces — heedless of the pity- 
ing eyes. 

"With a dreary desolation and a loneliness op- 
pressed, 

How I long to sleep for ever in a still and dreamless 
rest. 

" In some far secluded valley, in some lone and quiet 

grave, 
Where the snow might drift above me, and the 

brambles o'er me wave ; 

" So that in that dark oblivion, every sense of being 

o'er, 
Memory, and wrong, and anguish, might disturb my 

soul no more." 

Slowly sinks the moon, — and slowly sweep the sha- 
dows o'er the vale, 

And the joyous tones are silenced in the halls of 
Herondale. 



162 HEROXDALE. 

" Still I watch the peaceful moonlight, still I hear the 
breezes call, 

And the river lowly gliding down beside the gar- 
den wall. 

" Wherefore doth my restless spirit still the perish- 
ed past awake ? 

Would my heart might sleep for ever ; would it 
might be still or break. 

" Yet from out the shrouded future comes a tone of 

promise sweet ; 
On the far-off shores of heaven thou and I again 

shall meet, — 

" And through long eternal ages, in a day of endless 

bliss, 
Dwell in joy's o'erflowing rapture, as in woe we've 

dwelt in this. 

"For I know that in that heaven God shall wipe 

away each tear, 
And the love shall bloom immortal which was wrong- 
ed and blighted here." 

Quiet stars, like gentle angels, watch above the 

sleeping vale ; 
And the midnight's solemn stillness reigneth over 

Herondale. 



UNDER THE MOON. 163 

UNDER THE MOON. 

Under the moon it is quiet now, 

Where sleepeth the silent strand, 
And dreamy ripples are murmuring 

Low on the silver sand ; 
And a spell of beauty is floating by 

On the balmy airs of June, 
As lapsed in a pleasant dream I lie 

Under the silver moon. 

Under the blue and boundless sky, 

Under the quiet stars, — 
Under the moon, as she peepeth forth, 

As a nun from her prison bars. 
Oh, would that the night might linger on, 

Nor the davlio-ht come so soon ; 
Oh, would that life might forever pass 

Under the silver moon ? 

Would that the busy and garish day 

TTe never might see again, 
Nor feel the chill of its worldly thought, 

Nor the blight of worldly pain ; — 
But dream for ever the blissful dreams 

Born of the nights of June, 
When the earth is still and the waters rest 

Under the silver moon. 



164 LADY CLAIKE. 

LADY CLAIRE. 

The summer breezes softly blow, 
The golden sunbeams softly fall, 

Where mirrored on the river's breast 
Stands hoary Levon Hall. 

The golden sunbeams creep within — 
They rest within a bower fair, 

Where through the long and dreamy days 
There sits the Lady Claire. 

Her eyes are bright as southern stars, 
Her silver laugh is sweet and wild ; 

For she is scarce a woman yet, 

Though something more than child. 

She readeth in the poet's page, 
She singeth as the merlins sing, 

And 'neath her fingers' magic touch 
Lo ! beauteous flowers spring. 

She saith, " The days too swiftly glide, 
The busy hours too swiftly run ; 

She cannot weave her roses quite 
Before the set of sun." 



LADY CLAIRE. - 165 



She saith, her heart is very glad — 
She saith, the earth is very fair ; 

Oh, may the Holy Mother's love 
Protect thee, Lady Claire ! 



" Oh hasten, Lady Claire, and see 
What gallant train doth yonder ride ! 

Oh see how gracefully they wend 
Along the river side ! 

"It is the Lord of Allandale 

Goes downward to the south countrie 
There is not in the border-realm 

So fair a knight as he !" 

She flung aside her golden hair, 
She open threw her lattice pane, 

And forward bent, with sparkling eyes, 
To view the gallant train. 

The noble Lord of Allandale 

Rode foremost with a haughty grace ; 
The breeze swept back the raven curls 

From his uplifted face ; 



166 LADY CLAIRE. 

And in the stirrup straight he rose, 
And doffed the bonnet from his brow, 

And bent him with a knightly grace 
Unto the saddle-bow. 

And Lady Claire, all rosy-red, 

Hath backward from the window drawn ; 
Yet dwelt the blush upon her cheek 

Through all that summer morn. 

And often, in the saddened days 

When summer green begins to wane, 

She rests her cheek upon her hand 
Beside the window-pane. 

She wearies of her tapestrie — 
She tangles all the silken strand ; 

The lute falls idly from her knee, 
The pencil from her hand. 

She heedeth not the poet's page, — 
She hath forgot her favorite song : 

She saith, " The hours too slowly glide ; 
The days are very long." 



LADY CLAIRE. 167 

" Oh hasten, Lady Claire, and see 

What gorgeons train doth yonder ride ! 

It is the Lord of Allandale, 
Returning with his bride. 

" How proud he holds her bridle-rein ! 

A happy bridegroom may he be, 
For not in all the southern realm 

Was one as fair as she !" 

She saw the Lord of Allandale, 

She saw the countess, fairy-fair : 
Why is her cheek so lily pale ? 

What ails thee, Lady Claire? 

She turned her from the window-pane — 
No sigh she breathed, no word she spoke ; 

Yet seemed it from that fatal day 
Her very heart was broke. 

And as within a folded rose 

A canker wears the life away, 
So drooped she in her blossoming, 

So faded, day by day. 

She listeth to the river's flow, 

She gazeth on the river's gleam ; 
Her very footsteps move as one 

That walketh in a dream. 



168 LADY CLAIRE. 

" Oh Father Abbot, pray for me, 
That I may hide beneath the sod ; 

Or if it be that I must live, 
Oh, let me live to God !" 

They took her to the cloister-cell, 
In all her youth and beauty's pride ; 

They veiled her from the sinful world, 
They made her Jesus' bride. 

She read within her missal's page, 

She knelt her at the Virgin's shrine, — 

And on her sainted features grew 
A beauty half divine. 

Yet pale and paler grew her cheek, 
And still she wasted, day by day ; 

Till like a waif of holy song 
Her spirit passed away. 

And then upon her snowy bier, 
She looked so pure and angel-fair, 

That far and near the people came 
To look on Lady Claire. 

The noble Lord of Allandale, 

He bent him with a saddened grace ; 

He crossed himself, and musingly 
He gazed upon her face. 



LOOKS AND WORDS. 169 

" She was too good and pure to live," 
The Abbot murmured with a sigh : 

But, said the Lord of Allandale, 
u She was too fair to die." 

" And strange it is," he musing said, 
" That one so young and passing fair 

Should prove as cold to earthly love 
As did the Lady Claire !" 



LOOKS AND WORDS. 

Oh, speak to me whatever thou wilt,- 
For words arise at will, — . 

But as thou looJcest, so will I 
Believe or doubt thee still. 

For would I read the silent Truth 

That in thy spirit lies, 
Then heed I not thy spoken words, 

But look into thine eyes. 

8 



170 RAIN IX THE WOODS. 

For eyes reveal the mysteries 

That words refuse to tell ; 
And Truth lies hidden in their depths, 

As in a silent well. 

But when the soul is deeply stirred, 

And eyes encounter eyes, 
The mystic veil is rent away, 

And all before us lies. 

Thus heart to heart, and soul to soul, 

Their mysteries unfold : 
What thousand words might never tell, 

A single glance hath told. 



RAIN IN THE WOODS. 

Out in the fair green wood 
Where tall old oaks their giant branches throw, 
And silvery elms bend gracefully and low 

To kiss the crystal flood; 



RAIX IN THE WOODS. 171 

While pattering overhead 
Conies slowly clown the blessed summer rain, 
Giving the shining leaves a richer stain 

Where'er its drops are shed. 

I bare my heated brow, 
I loose my tresses to the cool, damp breeze ; 
I pause where softly sifted through the trees 

Trickle the rain-drops slow. 

My languid frame revives, 
A fresher life through all my being thrills ; 
The heaven-born shower that slowly thus distils 

New strength unto me gives. 

As on the poet's brain 
With worldly care and earthly toil o'erwrought, 
Cometh at times a heaven-inspired thought, 

Like the sweet summer rain. 

So onward still I pass, 
Mid the light greenwood and the solemn pines, 
Where clear and pure a pendant diamond shines 

On every blade of grass. 

Brushing a crystal shower 
From the low boughs that droop beside the way ; 
Pausing to pluck a moist and fragrant spray 

From the wild jasmine bower ; 



172 RAIN" IN THE WOODS. 

Breaking the pools that lie 
Half hidden in the beds of velvet moss, 
Whence blue-eyed violets their heads uptoss 

As slowly I pass by. 

How doth the wood rejoice 
In the new life unto its lone heart given ! 
Sending its sweet thanksgiving up to heaven 

In birds 5 and streamlet's voice. 

So, would my spirit fain 
Pour forth in praise the thoughts that through it 

throng — 
And utter forth its low and humble song 

To bless the summer rain ! 



SONG OF REST. 173 



SONG OF REST. 

Rest — rest ! 
Toil is over, day is done, 
Home awaits thee, wearied one ; 

Rest — rest ! 
Eager footsteps haste to meet thee, 
Loving voices wait to greet thee — 

Thou art blest ! 
Be thy soul to quiet stilled. 
Be thy heart with gladness filled ; 

Rest — rest ! 

Rest — rest ! 
Night's dim shadows softly fall, 
Night's low voices sweetly call, 

" Rest— rest !" 
Angel visions without number 
Mingling with thy quiet slumber, 

Make thee blest ! 
All things rest in quiet now — 
All things slumber — slumber thou ; 

Rest — rest ! 



114: THE CEOSS AOT> CBOWST. 



THE CROSS AND CROWN. 

In the gloom of my darkest day, 

In the night of my deepest woe, 
A voice came whispering to my soul, 

Tender, and calm, and low : 
" Arise, oh feeble soul ! 

Why art thou thus cast down ? 
Be strong to bear each wrong and loss 
For they must bow to the earthly Cross 

Who would wear the heavenly Crown. 

" Shrink not from the lonely way, 

Nor the cross that must be borne ; 
Nor faint when the staff thou lean'st upon 

From thy clinging grasp is torn. 
To thee in thy sorest need 

Shall a holier strength be given ; 
Bow thyself to the will of God — 
Treading the path by martyrs trod — 

Looking alone to heaven !" 

Dear Lord, though my heart may bleed, 

And its very life-strings break, — 
Help me to yield its treasures up, 
Help me to drink of the bitter cup, 
For the dear Redeemer's sake ; 



BY THE WINDOW. 175 

Teach me Thy will to know, 

And guard me, Lord, from sin : 
Help me the heavy Cross to bear 

And the golden Crown to win. 

My God, be Thou my guide : 

I give my hand to Thee. 
From the fiery flame when I shrink in fear 
Let me Thy voice of mercy hear, 

Let me Thy glory see. 
So in the darkest day 

Shall my weary soul be blest ; 
So, with the Cross at last laid down, 
Grant me to wear the heavenly Crown — 

Grant me the heavenly rest. 



BY THE WINDOW. 

By the window, when the sunset 
Crimsons all the glowing west, 

Sit I with my favorite poet, 
In his golden fancies blest ; 

And a flood of rarest music 

Thrills through all my raptured breast. 



176 BY THE WINDOW. 

By the window, in the twilight, 
With the book upon my knee, 

Yield I to a quiet musing — 
To a blissful reverie ; 

Till, from out the purple heavens 
Blessings seem to fall on me. 

By the window, when the moonlight 
Falls through jasmine boughs, I wait,- 

Watching with unquiet pleasure, 
Half subdued and half elate, 

For the form that soon shall enter 
At the bowered garden gate. 

By the window, in the starlight, 
Many a happy hour we spend ; 

And as moonlight with the starlight, 
So our thoughts together blend ; 

And we thank God for the loving 
That His greater love doth send. 



A SICK-BED YEAENIKG. 177 

A SICK-BED YEARNING 

Bring me roses, fragrant roses, 

From the woodland's deepest bower ; 
Roses, with their bosoms sparkling 

From the cooling summer shower : 
Place them on my throbbing bosom, 

Press them to my burning brow ; 
They will still the fevered fancies 

That oppress my spirit now. 



Bring me lilies, silver lilies — 

Fair as winter's falling snow ; 
Lilies that have sprung and blossomed 

Where the living waters flow ; 
Lilies that in cooling ripples 

Oft have laved their silver bells, 
Where the willows lowly whisper, 

And the sunbeam never dwells. 



Roses ! for my heart is pining 
For the green and shady woods ; 

Lilies ! for my soul is thirsting 
For the fresh and living floods. 
8* 



178 LONG AGO. 

They will still the restless fever 
That is burning in my frame, 

With a dreaming of the woodlands 
And the waters, whence they came. 

I shall feel the cooling breezes, 

With the breath of flowers sweet ; 
I shall see the dimpled ripples 

As they break about my feet ; 
I shall feel their living freshness 

Thrill through every fevered vein, 
Till my languid frame is strengthened 

And my soul revives again. 



LONG AGO. 

From the old familiar homestead, 

From the locusts, drooping low, 
From the quaint and ancient garden 

Murmur tones of long ago. 
Here, amid the April flowers, 

Tiny feet have gaily played, 
Here in autumn's dreamy hours 

Pensive steps have strayed. 



LONG AGO. 179 

Round the casement, thickly clustered, 

Hang the jasmine's golden bells : 
Many memories hover round them, 

Many a tale their fragrance tells. 
How my small and busy fingers 

Wove them in my mother's hair ; 
How their breath was sweetly mingled 

With my evening prayer. 

Where yon narrow pathway leadeth, 

Where the deepening waters stray, 
There my father's arms have borne me 

Oft along the treacherous way. 
Oh, the path of life is lonely 

Where the troubled waters flow, 
And I miss the hand that led me 

Gently, long ago. 

And I miss the tender voices, 

And the eyes whose light is o'er; 
They have passed away for ever, 

They will bless me never more. 
Here, within the quiet grave-yard, 

Where the willows whisper low, 
Side by side repose the sleepers, — 

Friends of long ago. 



180 AT SEA. 

•Oh, for childhood's happy hours, 

With its smiling and its tears — 
For my very soul is yearning 

For the love of other years. 
Worldly friends perchance may leave me, 

I can smile to see them go, 
But I miss the friends that loved me 

Dearly, long ago. 



AT SEA. 

God of the universe, 

God of the sea, 
From the dim ocean wave 

Turn we to Thee. 

Thou who dost move with us 

O'er the lone deep, 
Be Thy hand over us, 

Watch while we sleep. 



BEST. 181 



Guard us from danger nigh, 
Shield us from harm ; 

Let us, as children, lie 
On Thy strong arm. 

Thus from the ocean-wave 
Call we to Thee, — 

God of the universe, 
God of the sea! 



REST. 



Lay him gently to his rest, 
Fold his pale hands on his breast, 

From his brow- 
Oh, how cold and marble fair ! 
Softly part the tangled hair, — 

Look upon him now ! 
As a weary child he lies, 
With the quiet, dreamless eyes 

On which the lashes darkly sweep, 
And on his lip the quiet smile, 



182 KEST. 

The soul's adieu to earthlv strife, 
And on his face the deep repose 

We never saw in life. 
Peaceful be his rest, and deep : 
Let him sleep ! 

No tears for him — he needs them not. 

Along life's drear and toilsome road 

Firmly his manly footsteps trode, 
Striving to bear his weary lot, — 
With such a pride upon his brow, 

With such a pain within his heart, 
The firmness of the manly will 

Veiling the secret smart. 
Oh, it is well the strife is o'er 

That thus so peacefully he lies, 
Unheeding now the bitter words, 

The cold, un pitying eyes. 
Fold his mantle o'er his breast ; 
Peaceful be his sleep, and blest ; 

Let him rest ! 

No sigh to breathe above his bier, 

No tear to stain the marble brow ; 
Only with tender, pitying love, 
Only with faith that looks above, 
We gaze upon him now. 



EEST. 



183 



No thought of toil and suffering past- 

But joy to think the task is done, 
The heavy cross at last laid down, 

The crown of glory won. 
Oh, bear him gently to his rest, 

Oh, gently pile the flowery sod, 
And leave his body to the dust, 

His spirit to his God. 



FINIS. 



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